


A Secret Chord

by blackwayfarers



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 11:03:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2465936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackwayfarers/pseuds/blackwayfarers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a whim, Louis and Liam decide to turn a mutual love of their reckless adventures, wild mischief, and bulletproof friendship into pop music and songs they can be proud of. It's the start of a partnership that shouldn't actually work, but really really does.</p>
<p>Or, Liam and Louis make memories at midnight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Secret Chord

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to Em and Bridget for their superhero betas and advice and kindness, I'm such a dummy and I'm so thankful for you. And to H and K, obviously, for making me think I can do stuff and other dumb friend stuff, gross.

**A Secret Chord**

*

**London, UK**

The evening that Louis comes over with take away bag of Chinese food and a box set of _The IT Crowd_ ends up being the first night in months that Liam writes a new song.

It's not a new thing for them to do during their time off; in fact it's kind of become their routine. At least once a week Liam will get a text from Louis with a long string of emojis, a puzzle told in symbols that Liam has to decipher. _Star Wars_ , or _Breaking Bad_ , or _Shaun of the Dead_ , whatever Louis has decided they're going to watch that night told in hieroglyphics.

Liam will try to guess until he's right, but usually he ends up pleading with Louis that he just doesn't know. Either way it's Louis' invitation to spend a night doing their favourite hobby when no one needs them: wasting time. 

Early that morning, Liam receives a text: angry faces, a computer, fire, clocks, more angry faces, more computers. It wakes him up (8 a.m., bright light sneaking between and around his bedroom curtains) and Liam smiles sleepily as he texts Louis back: _Dunno. The matrix?_ He guesses again while he sits down at his kitchen table in his empty apartment and eats a breakfast of cold pizza and orange juice: _The Office?_ Louis sends a single reply, _Warmer_ , but nothing else. Liam guesses a third time when he gets home from a run early in the afternoon: _Office space?_

It's not that big of a mystery, Liam already knows how he's going to be spending the night – with something new to watch, with take away food, with Louis – so he isn't too bothered about the smaller details. 

He spends the afternoon tidying up a little, but not too much. Dirty laundry thrown into his bedroom, nipping out to the corner store to buy Louis the pear cider that he likes, throwing out the Styrofoam and cardboard leftovers from this week's curries and Thai food and Pizza Express. By seven o'clock he's just sitting on his couch and waiting for the inevitable ring at his door.

It doesn't take long.

"Hopeless," Louis says when Liam opens the door. "Absolutely hopeless."

"Sorry," Liam says, grinning as he steps aside to let Louis in.

Before Louis has even taken off his jacket, he snatches the Cardinals snapback Liam is wearing and tugs it on. He's got a plastic bag dangling from one hand, the smell of sweet and sticky Chinese food following him inside, and he hands it off to Liam before taking off his coat and hooking it up over Liam's leather jackets in the front hall. 

" _The IT Crowd_ , idiot," Louis says, waving the DVD box set in Liam's face. It's still in its plastic wrap, meaning Louis either just bought it or has been waiting to share it. Either way it makes Liam's chest tighten happily.

" _Ohhh_ ," Liam says. "That makes sense."

"Glad you got all dressed up," Louis says, plucking at the thin strap of Liam's white muscle shirt. "And trackies, too. Are you trying to impress me?"

"Shut up," Liam says with a bashful grin, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats. "It's movie night, you want me in a tux?"

"Yes," Louis says, giving another playful tug at the hem of Liam's shirt."I do."

It's not like Louis is dressed any better. He's wearing a loose Ramones band-tee, skinny jeans, and Liam's hat. No socks, obviously. Liam can see Louis flex his toes and it reminds him of the hundreds of times Louis has called shoes a prison. And like those hundreds of times, it makes Liam laugh and shake his head.

"How ya been?" Louis asks, striding into Liam's kitchen and opening the fridge to find the tall can of Magners he knows is in there waiting for him. He cracks it open and leans back on the counter, watching while Liam starts taking the foil containers out of the bag.

Liam shrugs as he starts opening the food, revealing sweet and sour pork and lo mein and crispy beef with sesame. "Just chilling. Went up for my sister's birthday, that kind of stuff. Shopping with Zayn, looked at taking a holiday before we go back to work."

"What'd you get her?" Louis asks, taking a piece of broccoli from one of the dishes and popping it in his mouth. "Your sister?"

"New laptop," Liam says, licking the sweet sauce from his fingers. "Plates or out of the cartons?"

"Cartons," Louis says, carefully picking up one of the hot dishes and takes it into the living room, sliding it down onto the coffee table. "That's nice, a laptop," Louis says. He leaves Liam to bring the rest of the dishes in while he busies himself at the DVD player, always so much better at setting things up than Liam. Even though it's Liam's apartment, and his stuff, he always leaves that stuff to Louis. 

"I got my sisters riding lessons," Louis says, and Liam can see his smile reflected in the black screen of the TV. "Mum said I couldn't buy them an _actual_ pony," Louis says, rocking back on his heels as he turns on the surround sound he helped Liam install before their last tour. "God, I love having money. By the way, you owe me for the Chinese food."

Liam laughs at that and Louis turns to look at him, smirking. 

"Sure," Liam says.

"I'm serious," Louis says, raising an eyebrow and biting his tongue between his teeth to avoid laughing again.

"Been doing anything else other than being the greatest big brother alive?" Liam asks.

Louis takes the compliment by rolling his eyes. "Just, y'know. Fiddling about on the piano. Making up dumb shit, I don't know." Louis says it off-hand, as casual as can be, but Liam can sense something else behind it. "It's been, what, four months since _Take Me Home_ came out? Have you thought about the new album at all?"

"Sort of," Liam says as he brings in the last dish, two forks, a bottle of Grolsch for himself and another cider for Louis. He sets them all up on the coffee table before bouncing down on the sofa. "Just in the thinking stage, though. I've got, like, writer's block or something. Musician's block. Is that even a thing?"

"Mm," Louis hums. "Probably."

The DVD player sucks up the disc Louis feeds it and the screen lights up with menu options. Before he sits down, Louis makes a trip around the room, making sure things are just so: curtains drawn against the darkening night, switching on a couple of lamps, bringing in the salt shaker that Liam forgot, and finally taking a trip down the hall and returning with a soft blanket that Liam keeps folded in his linen closet. 

Louis knows this house so well it might as well be his own. Liam has even seen him navigate it when he's drunk, as easily as he does his own home. Louis knows which room is his when they pass out here after a night at a pub or after an awards show, he knows which toothbrush is for him, he knows where the best towels are kept and steals them for himself when he's having a shower the next morning. Louis could probably make a cup of tea blindfolded, knowing exactly which drawers to find teaspoons and sugar cubes and tea bags (Yorkshire Gold, obviously.)

Liam likes that everything has to be right when Louis is here, like the house is being transformed from his bachelor pad into something they both can share. The lights are dimmed, giving the vaulted ceilings of the living room the feel of a cathedral, and the coffee table is pulled close enough that Louis can put his feet up on it. Most important is the blanket they share, draped over their legs with a promise of cosiness. It starts that way, anyway, but as the night goes on they start tugging at it back and forth, playing a stealthy game to see who can get more of the blanket, like a territorial land grab in slow motion.

And Liam too, Liam feels _just so_ when Louis is here. After the hectic rush of tour, and the ear-splitting screaming, and the dozens of Red Bulls during jet lagged three a.m. customs lines, and sixteen radio interviews to be done before soundcheck, and the thirty seconds Liam has to phone his mum to say hi, well, being back home can be incredibly strange. This might be his apartment but it's so weirdly clean and tidy, Liam never spending enough time in it to ever mess it up properly, and it never feels quite his own. 

It's different when Louis is here, though. There's a warmth to this place when he comes over, a warmth Liam never feels when he's home alone. He'll unpack his bags, fill the fridge with food from Marks and Spencer's, put new sheets on his bed, but it never feels like home until Louis messes it all up. 

It's familiarity, like a lighting a fire in the grate or curling up with an old family dog. And it's really the only time it ever feels like home, which is why Liam can't help but notice that tonight Louis can't seem to settle down. 

Where Louis is normally happy to sit beside Liam and down cider after cider until his head sinks onto Liam's shoulder with heavy, tipsy content, tonight Louis is only taking short sips of his drink and he sits with his spine straight, staring at the television in a way that makes Liam think that he's not really watching it.

"I liked the writing we did last time," Liam says quietly, trying to get Louis to relax. Normally, Louis would yell at him for messing up a punchline or interrupting the programme, but this time he just looks at Liam curiously.

"I was just thinking about that, actually. Exactly what you said," Louis says with genuine surprise. "It was amazing, wasn't it?"

Liam nods, taking a swig from his bottle. "I mean, most of our stuff ended up getting cut, so." Liam gives a shaky kind of laugh, not sure how to end that sentence. 

It's still hard to talk about that stuff, those dozen or so songs he and Louis came up with in hotel rooms at three in the morning or stoned in the afternoon while they were being driven half-way across Europe. Those songs meant something to Liam, something precious, and when he listens to those scratchy, low-quality demos on his laptop they can still bring him back to the very second when Louis thought they needed a chord change or when they came up with the perfect line to fit the meter of their chorus. 

"I know," Louis says flatly. "That was fucked up."

"Yeah, it really sucked seeing it, just, disappear. I don't know. All that work we did, like, damn," Liam says. Louis doesn't reply, but he looks like he's thinking hard about what Liam is saying. "It kinda seemed like they didn't – that they almost didn't want us to try, you know?"

Louis nods slowly, and Liam would swear he almost looks kind of angry. "I think our stuff was pretty good."

Liam laughs before he realises Louis is being serious. "Yeah, yeah," Liam says quietly, his voice shifting now that he knows Louis isn't joking around. "Even when it was, like, dumb pop songs or whatever, it _meant_ something to me." Liam sighs and takes another swill of his warm beer. He's already lost the thread of the episode they were meant to be watching, but Louis doesn't seem concerned about the programme at all, too focused on whatever he's thinking about now. "I'd – I'd be pretty fucked up if we got rejected again."

Another nod, Louis' look of anger slowly transforming into a plan. "So, we'll just make them an offer they can't refuse."

"You've been spending too much time with Zayn and his mafia films," Liam says, giving Louis' shoulder a friendly shove, but Louis seems genuinely serious. Liam suddenly imagines Simon Cowell waking up to a horse head in his bed, and the thought makes him grin. 

He wouldn't put it past Louis either, not when he has set his mind on something.

"I'm not kidding," Louis says. "I mean, less murder, obviously."

"Less," Liam agrees.

"Not a lot," Louis promises.

It's thrilling seeing Louis like this. Liam knows there's a very fine line between Louis' bitter jokes and actual anger, and right now he can see the way Louis is standing uneasily on the edge between the two. It's the boundary Liam has seen so many times before, the acidic and sarcastic insult and this dark, unexplored territory where Louis seems genuinely upset and protective. 

"Let's do it," Louis says, and Liam knows immediately which path he has chosen.

This is the exact same way Louis gets when paps are harassing Niall, or when there's a shitty article written about his mum, or when he overhears someone trashing Harry: his eyes go icy and his teeth grit tight, a boy like a storm about to break. Every time Liam sees it he's glad he's on Louis' side, glad that there's someone there who would fight for him like that, glad to be the one to help with whatever Louis needs.

"Do what?" Liam asks. "Write music again? Are you serious?"

"I'm being dead serious," Louis replies. "We'll just have to write some stuff that's so good they can't turn it down. We've got to blow them away, yeah?"

Like all of Louis' ridiculous schemes and idiotic plans, there's a spot in Liam that wants to agree with him immediately. Liam always just wants to say _yes_ to anything Louis says these days, because he knows that it took him far too long to realise how good being trusted by Louis felt. 

It's kind of like making up for lost time. Saying yes because there were so many adventures Liam missed out on because he said no. It's hard not to regret all those early months he spent doubting and mistrusting Louis, and for all the nights out drinking and mischief he stubbornly said no to, and for all of the things he missed when he could have just jumped into the murky waters feet first and found that Louis would never let him drown. 

Yeah, it took a while, but Liam knows that he'll never waste another chance to be best friends with Louis again.

"We?" Liam asks, raising his eyebrows curiously. 

Louis seems taken aback, like of all the things Liam could have said that was the one he least anticipated. "Sure. We. You and me, like. Don't you think?"

"You want to write with me?" Liam asks. They've pretty much given up on the TV programme, so he shifts where he's sitting, crossing his legs under his body as he turns to face Louis. "Seriously, man?"

"Of course," Louis says. He's acting exactly like when Liam fucks up some very easy math question or wonders aloud if Indonesia is the same thing as India, as if this is so obvious and Liam is being an idiot for not seeing it. "We were on fire last time. We wrote so much. So what if they didn't like it? That was _our_ thing, man. Don't you think?"

"I mean, we all wrote together, didn't we?" Liam says. "I thought we were all writing just for the fun of it, or something. I didn't think it was – I didn't think _I_ could, well – I never thought someone would listen to my stuff, you know?"

It's true that over the last year, all five of them wrote together. They spent so many days writing out guitar chords and page upon page of possible lyrics and song titles (the margins cluttered with bored drawings of dicks, Batman logos, insults aimed at each other), so many nights playing those same melodies over and over until they were impossible to forget, but it's the first time Liam realised what those nights _meant_.

Liam can picture those moments perfectly, like a family photo. More often than not the evening would end with Harry passed out on Louis' lap and Niall and Zayn curled up together on the sofa, while Liam and Louis slowly picked their way through arpeggios on the guitar. There was no pressure, there was no worrying about playing the songs for anyone else, they just _wrote_. They wrote until they found something that made them both grin, until they were both a bit delirious with exhaustion and amazed at the beautiful little chorus they managed to write. That's just how music writing made sense to Liam, each of them trying to find something – some stupid rhyme, some new melody – that makes them both smile. 

It never mattered to Liam if it was good, only that Louis liked it. 

"I wasn't fooling around last time," Louis says. "Were you?"

It was never meant to be anything other than a bit of fun, or that's what Liam thought. Louis is right, though, Louis is right about those rare golden days when the night was stretched thin and the sun was coming up too quickly and they were buzzed on too many Red Bulls and Liam was tucked up next to Louis with a guitar and a page of notes, the both of them looking down at a song that actually kind of _worked_. 

"Not anymore," Liam says. "I'm not fooling around now."

"Listen," Louis says, running his hand back through his hair, grown out and soft and curling up at the tips, "I don't know how long we're going to last –"

"Louis –"

"No, no, I know, we'll always _have_ each other, but this band can't go on forever." Louis frowns at the idea but his determination doesn't falter. "I want to make something, man. I want to _build_ something. I want to be doing music for the rest of my life." Louis sighs with frustration, blowing upwards at a lock of hair that falls in front of his face, and impulsively Liam reaches over and tucks it behind his ear.

"I know what you mean," Liam says, taking his hand away. 

Louis smiles a little. "This is the only thing I want to be doing. And I don't want people to just _give_ it to me, I want to _take_ it. I want to do it with you, man. I want to do it with you."

Liam remembers all those stories Louis told about his teachers saying he'd amount to nothing, all those times Louis said that without his boys he would have spiralled out of control, all those shitty articles calling Louis immature and unfocused. If only those dickheads could see Louis now. 

"Is that what you want?" Louis asks, a strangely fragile question in the middle of his lion's roar.

"More than anything," Liam says.

The way Louis has been speaking is almost trance-like as he stares blankly at the TV, his eyes fixed on some invisible horizon. When he finally looks over at Liam it's with the same kind of certainty and fierce pride that Louis used to show before they went on stage to perform during the X-Factor: win or die trying, succeed or burn out. It's the same look that made Liam realise that Louis was more than laughs and broken things, that there is a boy in there so worthy of admiration. 

"Then, why don't we do it?" Louis asks, looking Liam straight in the eyes. "Together, you and me, all of us, all the boys. Let's just fucking do it."

Liam was ready to agree minutes ago, even before this outburst, always so willing to say yes to Louis right away, but now he's more certain than ever. It's the difference between being a conscripted soldier and choosing to go to war; Liam wants to help Louis because he truly believes in what he says, he's not saying yes just because Louis asked. 

"I'm in," Liam says.

Louis nods without saying anything more. A tension seems to release in him; shoulders dropping, smile growing, muscles loosening as he goes soft against Liam's side. Without asking, Liam grabs the remote and starts the episode over again and fall back into their routine of drinking beer and picking the chunks of chicken out of the cartons of Chinese food.

It's not the same, though. Everything has changed in the span of a quiet conversation. It's as if Liam's life has quietly reorganised itself when he wasn't looking. When he laughs with Louis at _The IT Crowd_ , they laugh together. When they knock their drinks together in a silent toast, they do it together. When they yawn and stretch as an episode ends, they do it together. It's as if somewhere in their conversation they each pricked the tip of their fingers with a pin and pressed the drops of blood together. 

The way Louis talked, the dream he laid out is so vital, so deeply important that Liam almost feels the stab of pain where the needle went in even though his hands are clean.

A dozen song ideas flip through Liam's head. It's a torrent of potential that he wants to hammer out with Louis, sparks and iron on an anvil, and he's never felt this kind of life in himself before. 

This is not the first time Liam has thought it, but it's definitely the most he's ever believed it: yeah, they can be more than five lads singing songs someone else wrote, they can grab a hold of their future around the throat if they want. They can do it because they're partners, and they have a fucking _future_ to build. 

"Another cider or are you driving home?" Liam asks, three or four episodes into the show. 

"Got a thing tomorrow," Louis says, pouting. "I should probably stop at two."

"Glass of water?" Liam asks, lip curling into a smirk because he knows how much Louis hates ending a party early.

"Diet Coke, asshole," Louis says.

If Louis has one gift above all others, it's the ability to bring life to things. Like some kind of mad scientist, he can breathe new life into old routines and new plans, whether it's managing to make their thousandth interview as fun as the first, or resurrecting their old love of go-karts and FIFA videogames. 

Sometimes Louis' Frankensteins end up smashing the world to pieces (pulling fire alarms, pretending to be kidnapped, walking too close to the edge of tall buildings), and sometimes they glow beautifully, lit from inside with the kind of fun Liam had when he was eleven years old and carefree. 

Liam knows this night will stick out more than any other day he's spent wasting time with Louis, because it's the night Louis made Liam actually believe they can do this.

Finding out Louis could be the best friend Liam ever had was like a kind of rebirth. Liam never knew he had such fire and fight in him until Louis brought it out, cracking his shell with his hammer of a smirk and letting Liam realise the fun that could be had in misbehaving. That's how tonight feels as well, Louis' certainty that they can succeed bringing something out in Liam he always had but never quite knew he did. 

He believes it now, though.

At midnight Louis stretches and sighs. "I guess I should go, huh?"

"You've always got a bed here, mate," Liam says, patting his shoulder. 

"I've got a breakfast thing," Louis says again, sounding more annoyed about it by the second. 

Louis stands up and stretches again, exposing a sliver of bare skin between them hem of his shirt and his jeans. A fuzz of hair trails up from the elastic band of his boxers, stretching up to his navel. His stomach is flat but somehow a bit soft, too. Liam likes that, he likes how it reminds him of wrestling with Louis on a hotel bed, jabbing fingers against his stomach while Louis swears and slams his head against Liam's sternum. Liam has seen Louis naked more times than he could count, but it's always somehow different when it's a thin glimpse like it is now, quietly intimate as Louis smiles down at Liam with his arms stretched towards the ceiling.

"You wanna take any food home with you?" Liam asks as he makes to stand up, but Louis pushes him back down.

"Nah, and don't get up. It's fine, I'll see myself out," Louis says, keeping his hand firm on Liam's shoulder.

Liam's a little tipsy, having nowhere to be tomorrow morning and a lot of beer in the fridge, and he lets Louis push him back into the cushions of the couch. "What about your DVDs?" Liam asks.

"Keep 'em," Louis says. "I'll see you later, huh?"

"Soon?" Liam asks hopefully. Even though he's kind of loopy with beer, that fire that Louis sparked to life in his guts hasn't been smothered. There's an energy in Liam that must be passion, like opening a whole new chapter to his life, and there's nothing he wants more right now than to share it with Louis. Making music was always kind of a luxury, but right now it feels absolutely necessary.

"Soon," Louis promises. "See ya, dude."

After three years Liam has become familiar with Louis' kisses. The light, warm press of his lips when they are about to part ways for a few weeks. The drunk and sloppy kisses Louis leaves like he's claiming his territory, his boys. The silent, sacred kisses Louis gives to them all when it's four in the morning and they've spent the last three hours talking about fears and dreads and fucked up things and Louis doesn't know how to say out loud but he still needs to make himself known.

This is different, though. Normally, Louis would lean down and leave a fleeting goodbye kiss, but tonight it lasts just that much longer, a half-second more that could hide an entire lifetime as Louis' lips leave their taste on Liam's mouth. The kiss lingers after Louis pulls away with a grin and ruffles Liam's unkempt hair, the sour of his cider and the sweet of his diet Coke and the promise of something else, something more. 

They wave goodbye to each other as Louis pulls on his shoes and gently lets himself out of the house. Liam can hear his car start up and the grind of gravel as he backs out of the laneway.

Even after Louis has left, Liam can't help but feel like something was left behind. It's nothing concrete, just a feeling like flighty panic and sudden joy in Liam's body. It's a gift that was given in that split second of uncertainty as Louis' cheerful kiss goodbye became something else entirely. Liam doesn't know what to call it, but he puts his fingers to his lips to feel the place that Louis touched.

When Liam stumbles back into his bedroom, he doesn't even think about sleep. On every other night like this, a little drunk from too much beer and his cheeks aching from laughing at Louis, Liam would just collapse onto his bed and pass out, but not this time.

Grabbing his guitar and a pad of paper, Liam sits cross-legged at the foot of his bed and stares through his open bedroom window. The life of London comes pouring in – diesel and iron and garbage and honking horns and screeching brakes – and Liam takes it all in as he feels a kind of meditative hum wash over him, clean and bright and invincible. 

Louis is out there, somewhere, in this city, and Liam looks for him in it.

Putting a pencil between his lips, Liam starts to pluck out notes, any notes, any nice combination that comes along. It just kind of happens, unforced, barely even thinking about it; Liam just plays and plays until a melody stays with him as strongly as the feel of Louis' lips on his own.

Liam doesn't know why Louis kissed him the way he did. He's not even sure why it seems to linger this long after the fact, ringing inside him like a bell that won't stop chiming, sticking in his mind like the song he's trying to write.

Deep down, Liam knows that this might be the only time Louis gives him something like this. It might have just been the right combination of things – the atmosphere, the way the light was shining, the lateness of the hour, some feeling Louis had that he wanted to share – and Liam knows that, like all good things in his life, it might be here one second and gone the next. This could be the one and only time that Louis' kiss lasts just that much longer, and Liam knows that. 

So he makes the best of it.

The sun starts rising too early. By half-six Liam is fast asleep, three full pages of scribbled ideas resting on top of his guitar at the foot of his bed.

*

****

**Dublin, Ireland**

*

For Liam, seeing new cities has always been the best part of being on tour. Only a few years ago the idea of getting in a plane and leaving was so foreign to Liam that he didn't imagine it in his wildest dreams, but now that he has the chance he takes every advantage he can.

Liam often finds himself – and whomever he can convince to come with him – going on little tours, secret trips to special places so early in the morning that there won't be a crowd there to meet them. Churches, canyons, forests, museums, castles. Things he has heard about and places he never even knew existed, ticking things off on a list he didn't even know he'd made.

There's nothing better than getting to see a city through someone else's eyes, though. As much as Liam likes wandering, it's so much better when there's someone there to point out things that Liam never would have noticed, the hidden life of the city hiding in the cracks of the cobblestones. 

They've all been to Dublin before, obviously, but getting a chance to walk through it with Niall is like being introduced to a whole new world, learning a password and being welcomed into a secret club. With Niall leading them, the city opens up like a flower.

The five of them get dinner late, half-eleven on a Wednesday night, trying to avoid the attention they'd get if they went strolling around Ireland in the middle of the day. After a quick korma – served, of course, with chips – Zayn comes up with the idea of having an after-dinner drink at an honest Irish pub. 

It doesn't take much to convince them.

March in Ireland is cold and damp. The rain holds off but Liam can still taste the hint of it in the air, like metal and mud, threatening them but never making good on that promise. After getting lost a few times (Louis yelling at Niall, Niall yelling back "I'm not even fucking from Dublin, what d'you expect?") they find the Liffey and decide to walk along the river until they find somewhere nice to stop and have a quick pint.

"Wait," Niall says when they pass the opening of a large boulevard. He squints at the street signs and grins. "We have to go down here. Come on, you have to see this."

The street Niall brings them down is grand, a gleaming boulevard of beautiful old lamps and marble and tourists. Big statues of dead Irish men stand in the middle of the road on towering plinths, staring down at Liam as he walks past. Marquees of golden bulbs flicker in patterns, taxis full of people rush by them in a hurry. 

Everything is so alive, and Liam can't stop smiling.

Niall leads them quickly past theatres and fancy shops, towards a tall building near the end of the lane. It's enormous, like a bank, full of towering Grecian columns and white stone. There are more statues of important men standing alert on the roof, and the green-white-orange of the Irish flag waves limply in the wind.

"We learned about it in school," Niall says when they stop before it. "It's the General Post Office. When the boys had their Easter rebellion, this was the headquarters for the rebels." Niall's chest is full when he speaks, sounding proud and a little funny about it. "This was the heart of it, I think."

"We didn't learn any of that," Harry says, looking up at the building in awe. "I don't think we ever read anything about Ireland, actually."

Niall gives a burst of laughter. "'Course you didn't, you lot were the baddies. Look, you can even see the bullet holes up there," he says, pointing to the pock-marked pillars in front of the building. "They're still there and all."

"Did you win?" Liam asks, tilting his head sideways to have a look. 

"Not yet," Niall says, almost wistfully. "Getting there, though."

It's just another thing Liam would have missed if he was on his own, the scars of the city hidden deep from people like him. Since he was nine or ten Liam craved being alone – so much easier that way, no one to beat him up for stupid reasons, no one to hate him if he walked on his own – but it's moments like these that make him so glad he got over that. Make him so glad the boys got him over that.

"Makes you think, huh?" Louis says, half-way between sincerity and a joke.

"It's incredible," Liam says, going with sincerity.

They take a moment to stand therein silence, looking at the Post Office with its bullet holes and signs written in proud Irish. If Liam were alone, he would have passed this, thinking it was just another building in another city, but it's because of Niall that he gets a chance to see something more. 

Everything is just so much more when he's with the boys. Everything.

It's so cheesy, but Liam wonders how much of life he would have walked by if it wasn't for Niall making him stop and look, if it wasn't for Zayn tossing him his iPod with some new tunes he might like, if it wasn't for Harry and his hidden bungalow and the things that changed him there. 

If it wasn't for Louis grabbing his hand and making him enjoy every second of the time they have together. 

There are just so many things Liam would never have had a chance to see, to smell, to taste, to touch if Louis didn't decide from the moment they met that it would be his project to get Liam to come out of his shell.

Liam can't even imagine how he ever managed to get on stage and sing alone, when everything sounds so much better in harmony.

"What's up?" Zayn asks, turning to Liam.

Liam shakes his head, wipes his cheek discreetly. "Hey, uh, how about that drink?" 

"You crying, man?" Louis asks. He's laughing, but he puts a hand on Liam's shoulder and squeezes.

"No," Liam says, shoving Louis hard as he walks in step next to Niall. "Find us somewhere good, huh?"

"I'm not even from fucking Dublin!" Niall shouts, laughing all the same.

As they start wandering back down the boulevard and towards the river, on that search for the perfect pub once again, Louis doesn't move away from Liam, his hand still clinging to the shoulder he squeezed. His grip might loosen, but he stays connected to Liam the whole time.

It doesn't take long to find the perfect place. Niall has a sixth sense for things like these, and he finds them an out-of-the-way place, a hole in the wall that suits them just fine. 

The outside of the pub is all fogged windows, men standing outside having a quick smoke, and a tarnished bronze nameplate, but the interior is stunning. Niall spreads his arms as they walk, seemingly unnoticed, through the front door, like he's known about this place the whole time and is welcoming them into his second home.

"Holy shit," Zayn says, throwing an arm around Niall's shoulders and tugging him in. "This is perfect. How the fuck do you do this, man?"

Niall grins and doesn't say anything. Liam knows that it wouldn't have mattered where they ended up; it's Niall that makes it great.

The pub is the kind you see in old films, dark wood everywhere, from the great big slab of the bar to the siding on the walls, and the dim lights make everything fuzzy and gold. Pint glasses of black beer stand on every table, and no one seems to notice them, even as they walk past tables full of old women and older men. It's like nothing Liam has ever seen, and because of Niall and because of the beer already in his blood and because Louis is still by his side, it seems to welcome Liam like a hug.

The sound of every pub is the same – laughter, clinking glasses, gruff men and voices raspy with cigarette smoke – but as they round the broad side of the bar, Liam can see that there's a small folk band set up in the corner. It's just a small cluster of fiddles, drums, penny whistles, and a crude four-stringed guitar, but it kind of makes the place perfect. Music everywhere, music following them every place they go. Music to make their lives go round. 

A new song starts up the moment they find a table, small and warm and private in a corner, and it only takes a few seconds for the pub to swallow them whole.

"You know," Niall says, foam from a newly pulled pint of stout on his upper lip as he talks, "my da would always listen to Irish traditionals when he was getting ready to go out for a night with my mum. He would go upstairs and put on his tape and have the longest bath in the world. If you had to piss you'd have to go down the back garden. Always that same tape, those same songs. Over and over"

Zayn laughs, and, already pretty drunk from dinner, leans in heavily against Niall's side. "That where you learned how to sing?"

"It is, yeah," Niall said, his cheeks very pink and his smile infectious. "Be lying on my stomach downstairs listening to the music coming from upstairs. My da would always smell like his aftershave when he came down, would pick me up and sing with me for a bit." 

"Join in, then," Harry says, leaning across Zayn to pat Niall's shoulder. "Go on, man. You're a professional. Sing along!"

"Nah," Niall says, laughing as he takes another drink. "Well."

It doesn't even take a full pint before Niall joints in with the band. His voice is high and bright and commanding in the crowd of noise, and he swings his empty glass in time with the rhythm of the music. 

The song is incredibly quick, word tumbling over word (the only thing Liam hears for sure is "rocky road" and "Dublin"), but Niall knows every lyric, as slick as if he was practicing this yesterday. Liam supposes something like this never leaves you. Niall makes sure to shout the word _Mullingar_ when it comes up in the song, and he gets them all laughing. 

Niall looks so amazing doing this, so at home. His blond hair is messy, Zayn ruffling it a half-dozen times through the night, and his cheeks are flushed red with what must be pride. Liam might have no idea what's going on, but it's impossible not to love something Niall is enjoying so much. 

Even though the rest of them are left guessing at the song, strangers in a room full of regulars, Liam notices how they all start to sway in unison to the beat of the song.

"This is so cool," Louis whispers, actually sounding genuinely awed.

"Remember this," Liam says, a little tipsy and warm all over. "For later. For the songs."

Louis cocks his head to the side. "You wanna write an Irish folk song?"

"No, no," Liam says. "Just – like, remember it. For inspiration."

After a moment, Louis nods. "I get you, yeah."

"Collect it," Liam says, leaning his head against Louis' shoulder. "This is gonna be our thing, okay?"

"Listening to music?" Louis asks.

"New music, new experiences," Liam says. Yeah, he's definitely halfway drunk, but he knows that he won't forget how this feels. Young, alive, finding a weird sense of belonging even though he's in a place he never even knew existed, living a life that doesn't seem to belong to him. 

"Yeah," Louis says, getting into it. "Yeah, I like that a lot." When Louis turns back to the band, to where Niall is now standing out of his seat and taking the high notes in the chorus, Liam watches a peace wash over Louis' face like a question finally answered.

No, they probably won't end up using Irish folk songs in the new album, but that doesn't matter to Liam. All that matters is he's hearing something entirely new, seeing Louis' face as they share this together. They sit back in their seats and drink their ruby-red stout, they sway to the music, and they gather every note like people collect stamps or old coins. 

"Our thing," Louis whispers again. "Yeah. I like that."

Liam doesn't need a camera for this moment, he knows that when he wakes up tomorrow (and the next day, and thousands of days after that, probably), he'll still have this feeling in his chest: warm, drifting, caught up in something much grander than himself. 

He'll smell the polished wood and sweet vanilla of pipe tobacco, and he'll hear Niall's voice happy and bright, and he'll feel Zayn's perpetual grin, Harry's ringing round of applause when Niall finishes a song, and Louis. Louis who, three years ago, made this all happen, and Louis who, only thirty seconds ago, reached over and squeezed Liam's hand, like he was making sure they were feeling the same thing at the exact same time.

*

****

**Somewhere in Belgium**

*

Finding time to write music while on tour is a lot harder than Liam ever thought it could be. When he thinks back to their last tour all he can remember is long hours spent doing nothing: watching films on the bus, teasing each other while waiting between interviews, lingering in the stadium after sound check playing Guitar Hero. At the time it seemed like they had nothing but free time, but now Liam hardly has the chance to even get his guitar out of its case.

Traveling through Europe is nothing like America. A six hour drive in America is barely enough to get them out of a state, but in Europe they could pass through nine countries in the time it takes to get across Texas. 

At least over there Liam knows they have a full night's drive ahead of them, but when they're crossing from France into Belgium it's at four in the morning, almost like an ambush as the five of them are woken up from their naps on the leather couches in the green room after the last show and told to get on the bus.

Even harder is finding a time when there are enough of them awake at the same time.

Zayn is always the first to start falling asleep, resting his head on whichever shoulder is closest to him, still unconsciously nodding his head along to what Liam is saying in an attempt to pretend that he's actually listening. Harry and Niall never last much longer, dopily walking back to their bunks with soft apologies and kisses to the top of Liam and Louis' heads.

Louis stays, though. Whether it's because he feels like he needs to keep his promise to Liam about writing music or if he's just too proud to admit that he's completely knackered, he always sticks with Liam until they decide to pack it in together.

Plucking a few strings of his guitar, trying to keep as quiet as he can (though Liam is pretty sure he could use a full marching band and it wouldn't wake up the boys), Liam absently strums the melody he created the night Louis came over.

"What is that?" Louis murmurs, lying along the whole of the couch across from Liam, propped up on one arm. "That's nice."

"Dunno, just something I've been working on," Liam says. "It's not really anything, just a line."

"Play it again," Louis says. He closes his eyes, but Liam knows that he's still listening. He watches as Louis quickly licks his lips and then reaches under his t-shirt to scratch his belly, just little things he always does that make Liam smile.

Liam plays it again a couple more times. It's just a hook, barely anything, but he likes watching the way Louis nods his head along to it, picks up on the sound and hums it quietly to himself. 

"That's it," Liam says when he finishes playing, waiting for Louis to open his eyes and say something.

"Got anything more?" Louis asks, his voice dreamy and far away.

"Not really, I never got further than that," Liam says. 

It's too early, or too late. Too something. The bus drives on, rocking them gently from side to side like a cradle, the world outside nothing more than the burning arrow of a motorway and the purple shapes of trees boxing them in on either side of the road. It feels almost galactic at times, the glimpses Liam gets of the stars outside and the black nothingness around them, the tinted windows of the bus blurring out the world. It makes him feel incredibly small.

"I really like it," Louis says, winking open one eye. "How'd you come up with it?"

"Dunno," Liam says again. His jaw feels sore, his throat scraped raw from the blowout show that night and he can't really focus on anything other than repeating those same few notes. "It just kind of happened after we talked." Liam repeats them again, remembering just how he felt when Louis left that kiss and walked out the front door, that rush of feeling that became a few simple notes.

"Do I inspire you?" Louis asks, putting on a sultry accent and making the words silky and sarcastic. "Am I your muse?"

Liam laughs, squinting and smiling at Louis. It's funny, the voice, the way Louis is lounging around like a sneaky seduction. Liam doesn't laugh for long though, because he realises it's kind of true: it's a melody that came to him because Louis asked.

"Maybe," Liam says honestly.

"Glad I can help," Louis murmurs, closing his eyes again.

"The things you said that night –" Liam smiles to himself at the memory, thinking about the way Louis can spark the flint and set fire to Liam's life so easily "– I don't know. It made me wanna write something right away."

Louis doesn't say anything, just rests his head on his palm, his elbow keeping him propped up.

"Okay, you don't need to gloat," Liam says. "Everyone knows you're the best."

Still that serene, unreadable smile.

"You always make things – you always make things –" Liam stutters, trying to find the word in the cluttered, sleepy cotton mess of his mind. "You have this way of always making things bigger and better, Louis. You make me want to – want to try harder."

Is it smugness in Louis' smile? Is it because he knows what kind of effect he has on Liam? 

"Louis?" Liam asks.

"Mm?" Louis says, opening his eyes again. "Sorry, kind of dropped off there for a second."

"You should go to bed," Liam says with a sigh. He's not sure if he's glad or upset that Louis didn't hear him.

"We both should," Louis says, rolling inelegantly off the couch and standing up. He reaches out to Liam, grabs his hand and helps him up. "What were you saying before? I inspired you?"

"Something like that," Liam says, not even bothering to put his guitar back in its case. 

Liam follows Louis through the tour bus to their bunks. It's only been four days since they last did a clean-up and already there are dirty clothes and food wrappers and empty DVD cases scattered all over the ground. It smells funky back here too, like a boys' change room or Harry's always-dirty Mercedes.

It also feels exactly like home, a new home, the other kind of home he builds with Louis.

"What did I do that got you writing music again?" Louis asks as he pulls off his t-shirt and drops it on the floor between their bunks. He readjusts the waistband of his track bottoms around his hips, fingers running under the elastic and lifting it from his skin, red welts and divots from where it dug in too tightly and dark shadows that lead lower. 

Again, having Louis' body close like this is kind of beautiful, everyone asleep so only Liam can see. The athletic tone that Liam watched Louis get from playing football, the fuzz of hair in the middle of his chest that Louis is obnoxiously proud of, the taut lip of Louis' navel that Liam can remember poking to get him to laugh. Liam wants to hug him, wants to know how Louis feels when they talk about the music they're hoping to make together, how it's a warmth inside he's never had before. 

"You just – were there," Liam says. He gives a lop-sided smile out of one corner of his mouth. "That's all."

"Glad I could help," Louis says again. 

Before Liam can say anything else, Louis leans in closer, almost smirking as Liam opens his mouth in surprise. All at once Liam is electrically aware of his close they are. He can smell the dried sweat on Louis' body and can see the raised goosepimples on his arms.

"It helps a lot," Liam says quietly, not even sure what that means or why he needs to say it.

Louis keeps his hands by his sides as he closes the distance and plants a firm, knowing kiss on Liam's lips. While everything is so dreamy – the rocking of the bus, the lateness of the day, the darkness of the world – this feels so sharp, a solid thing Liam can hold on to like an anchor. 

It lasts longer than any kiss they've shared before, and it seems to serve no purpose: they're not spending any time apart, neither of them are maudlin and drunk, there's nothing to celebrate or commiserate. It's just a kiss, given and taken and shared.

And just when Liam thought it couldn't possibly happen again. That this new, different kind of kiss wouldn't happen twice.

Liam puts one hand on Louis' hip, resting it there gently like he's letting the current flow through them both, their two points of contact in lip and skin like the ends of a battery. It's all Liam wants to do, touch Louis' bare skin and feel what it's like to be this close to him. It feels important to touch him, like he needs to ground them both in this strange thing they've started to do. 

Music and kissing, one chasing the other, almost one and the same when Liam thinks about it.

"There," Louis says when he pulls away again, rolling his shoulders with a crack like knuckles. "Maybe that'll help you finish the song, Bob Dylan."

"Ha," Liam says, laughing at the joke even as the kiss still hums inside him, bright and warm like it has a life of its own. Liam has no idea why Louis keeps doing it, what new game he might be playing or what the rules might be, but he likes the way it feels to be so close to Louis. "I wasn't really planning on writing any songs about idiot dickheads."

"Hey," Louis says with a shrug as he slides down into his bunk, giving Liam a grin before closing his curtains tight. "It's the first rule, isn't it? Write about what you know."

Liam knows that all the things he thinks about before he goes to bed – choruses, lyrics, variations on his melody – will be totally forgotten by morning, a distant dream he can only piece together in bits, but he doesn't much mind. 

Liam knows that it will all come again, so long as Louis is near. It will all come back beautifully again.

*

****

**Baerum, Norway**

*

"I'll google it," Niall says, sliding in next to Harry on the sofa.

"Hold on, hold on, I can do it," Harry says. His hands are stretched wide over the keyboard of Niall's laptop, carefully finding each key.

"You are the slowest typer in the world," Louis says from across the room, throwing the hacky sack he's been fiddling with at Harry's head. He misses by a mile, so Liam bends down to pick it up and he tosses it back. "Even Liam can touch-type by now."

"Home keys, Harry," Niall says gently, taking Harry's hands and putting his fingers in the right spot. "Didn't you do this at school?"

"I go at my own speed," Harry says calmly. "I might not type well – anyone can type well – but I type with _feeling_."

"Should never have taught him to play the piano," Niall says, not looking up from his mobile. "Thinks he's fucking – uh. Some famous piano player."

"Chopin?" Zayn offers.

"Who?" Liam asks. "What band's he in?"

"More like Liberace," Louis says. "You know if we didn't stop him he'd be out in those fucking sparkle boots, covered in glitter, in tiny gold knickers like the Rocky Horror Picture Show."

"I won't stop trying either," Harry says. He grins at Louis over his computer screen and Louis laughs in return, a fond half-smile that hasn't changed in the years since the two of them ran riot in the X-Factor house. 

Louis throws the hacky sack at Harry again.

"Harry," Niall says, urging him back to the computer. "Let me do it if you're not –"

"Got it," Harry says. "I found Wikipedia. Uh, and Baerum means, um, _mountain house_?" Harry looks puzzled. "Did anyone bet on that?"

Louis frowns. "I can't remember. I think I said it meant iceberg."

"Harbour," Niall says, shrugging. 

"Polar bears," Liam says, frowning. He knew it was a long shot, but he just liked the idea of that a lot.

"Okay, who was closest then?" Louis asks, looking around.

"I said hill," Zayn says, tucking his phone back into his pocket. "There's a fucking hill right there, you can see it out the window. You're all fucking idiots, and you owe me ten quid each."

They all pay up, Niall and Harry throwing their money at Zayn while Liam fishes his wallet out from the back pocket of his jeans. Zayn grins up at him as he takes the money, slapping Liam's ass as he walks away.

Louis, lounging out on one of the couches in Niall's hotel room, waves his ten pound note in the air. "If you want it you gotta come and get it," he tells Zayn. 

Liam walks over and takes the bill from Louis and walks it over to Zayn, only too happy to be their in-between. 

He just feels so good right now, a happiness he's carried inside since Louis burst into his room at nine o'clock that morning with a plate of smoked salmon and scrambled eggs to share with his iPod full of new music. It's been hours and hours since that wake-up call, but it's a feeling Liam can't (and doesn't want to) shake.

These small breaks they get are so far and few between, but they always end up spending them the same way: holed up together and doing whatever they please, chatting in circles for hours until it's night, getting nothing done and doing it well.

The best part of these days are how they make Liam feel like the University student he'll never get to be, wearing pyjama bottoms and t-shirts from morning until night, eating fried food, vaguely thinking about hitting up the gym but deciding he'd rather be in this shared little space with the rest of the boys. 

Norway is a lot nicer than any university Liam could have ended up at, though. It's just past ten at night but the sun resists going down, hovering for what seems like hours at the horizon and only now dipping low, a halo of white light behind the (now obvious, how could he have ever thought _polar bear_?) hills near Oslo.

It's a lot like a night in London, but out here the open window lets in brackish sea air and yapping dogs and the click-click-click of bicycle wheels, a different kind of peace that Liam takes to heart. Only a few years ago he never imagined that he would ever get the chance to travel, never mind that these distant places could make him feel so comfortable. He never thought being away could feel this nice.

He knows exactly why these places feel so nice, though.

Looking back, Liam finds it almost impossible that he ever wanted time alone from these guys. Those days he spent at the other end of the room, the house, the hotel so he could have some privacy. It's so hard to imagine what he was thinking back then. It feels like that's an entirely different person, that kid who said _no_ to things and tried to talk the boys down from doing something idiotic. 

Liam has never been so glad to be different. It makes him want to shout and grin, this build-up of goodness in him coming out in short little dances he does as he bounces from foot to foot, dumb jokes he makes, hugs he gives as he swoops down on one of their shoulders. 

It gets all the boys laughing, stage whispering to each other "who gave Liam too much sugar?", and Liam loves that. He loves knowing they have another show tomorrow, and he loves knowing they'll all get to say goodnight together in a hotel instead of falling asleep at odd hours, and he loves being himself when there are four other people who love the person he is, too.

"What time is it?" Zayn asks as he folds their money into his wallet. "I can never tell when we're all the way up here."

"Almost eleven," Niall says. 

"What should we do?" Liam asks. "We have to get up early, but I really don't want to go to bed now."

"I've got some new tunes," Louis says. It's an invitation to all the boys, but he looks at Liam when he says it. "Lights out, we listen to some new stuff, give us some ideas for writing songs?"

There's a general nod and shrug shared by the rest of them, a unanimous decision. Liam goes to take Louis' iPod from him but Louis doesn't offer it up. Instead, Louis gets up off the couch with a shrug and walks with Liam to the amazing set of Bang and Olufsen speakers provided by the hotel. 

"You're bouncing off the walls, man," Louis says with a smile as he scrolls through his playlists. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Liam says. "Just having a great night, you know?"

"You've been in such a good mood this whole month," Louis says as he finds the mix he's looking for. "Any reason? Or just – whatever?"

"No reason," Liam says. There really isn't any reason, not one in particular at least. It's the thousands of things that happen, keep happening: it's new cities but familiar games; it's Zayn's hugs before they go to bed and it's Harry's Skype calls with his mum when he pulls Liam in to say hi; it's Niall going on morning runs with him. 

It's Louis.

Most of all it's the music they're all making filling every corner of his life, whether he's on the stage or off. Liam wishes he could explain to Louis what it means to him, knowing they're doing this crazy thing together, but the only way he knows how to do it is just to be near Louis. 

"I just – we always say it, but. We've written almost three songs already, and they're – you know, fucking incredible. Living the dream, innit?" Liam rushes to say.

" _Innit_ ," Louis repeats with a huff of laughter. "Doesn't take much to make you happy, huh?"

"Nope," Liam says, looking over Louis' shoulder and trying to get a peek at the songs he's queuing up. "You, them boys, music. I'm just really happy."

"Didn't we always have that?" Louis asks. His questions aren't mean in any way, just simple curiosity. 

"Yeah, but, it was never like this." Liam doesn't know how to put it into words so he just presses his mouth to Louis' shoulder, closes his eyes for a second. "It gets better every day we do it. I love you guys more after every show and – I like knowing that it'll always get better and better."

Louis nods slowly at that. "Remember when you wanted to punch me in the face?"

Liam grins. "Who says I still don't?"

"Best friends?" Louis asks. It isn't baited, there is no warning that Louis finds this all too mushy, it's just a straight-forward question.

"Best friends," Liam says, a straight-forward answer.

"It's the new M83 album," Louis says, finally letting Liam see the playlist. "Zayn sent it to me a couple months ago. It's not like anything we're writing, but –"

"Musical education, yeah," Liam says, putting a hand against the small of Louis' back. Louis moves into the touch gently, pressing his hip to Liam's as they try to find the input on the speakers. "I get it. We have to listen to everything, never know where an idea's gonna come from."

"And I'm really tired of listening to Norwegian death metal," Louis says.

"We should write a metal song," Liam says, throwing up the bull's horns for Louis. "That would be wicked."

"We need a metal name, though," Louis says. "One Direction won't work."

"Blood Direction," Liam offers.

"One Dissection."

"One Resurrection."

"One Execution."

"Metal," Liam half-shouts, sticking out his tongue like Gene Simmons just to make Louis laugh.

While they were busy setting up the speakers, Niall and Harry have put together a small fort made out of blankets and cushions. Pushing the couches to the far corners of the room, they all sit together in the little Stonehenge out of down pillows, a ring of white linen so much like a nest. 

Louis starts playing the mix and is the last to join them in their circle, sitting down between Liam and Harry, the final arm of their five-pointed star. 

The music is dreamy and galactic, a distinct sound that makes Liam think of purple and green neon lights, or man walking on the moon. It's noise that feels like wandering around London half-drunk at four in the morning. The lyrics are sparse and repetitive, the music like the pings and whistles of a videogame or a slot machine, and it feels like Liam can see the stars even through the hotel ceiling. 

"I like how it, like, builds," Zayn says, laying next to Liam and tucking his hands behind his head like they're out on a camping trip.

"Building to that great big – explosion," Liam says. "Yeah."

"Crescendo," Harry says. "I think that's what it's called."

"Crescendo," Liam says, trying the word out. "It makes it feel so – important."

There's some _hmm_ ing and nodding around the circle, but no one says anything else. 

This is their meditation, always has been. Whether it's with shared ear buds on a long drive or playing over loudspeakers in the arena before the show, it's the one thing they share that isn't meant to be laughed at or fooled around with or even talked over. 

Liam isn't sure he's getting any song ideas from this, but it's nice just experiencing it. Even though they've put out two platinum records and sold out shows around the world, it's still so hard for Liam to even think of another band as a colleague and not some distant hero. 

It's like meeting Keith Richards or Jay-Z after a show, shaking hands with these people and trying not to freak out, even though they're all musicians, all of them selling millions of records in the same industry, making their marks in the world in the same way. Liam is pretty sure he'll never be able to think of himself as their equal. Fuck, sometimes he looks at Harry or Zayn and feels like he'll never really be on their level, just a guy who tags along and has some fun with them.

"What d'you think?" Louis whispers, a question meant only for Liam. His head is turned, looking at Liam from across the pillow, eyes half-hooded almost like he just woke up or is about to fall asleep, and Louis' lips are soft and his hair is down and messy and unwashed. It's a question about _their thing_.

Louis is just a kid. They're both just kids making music in their parents' basement, in the garage after school, at an open mic night at a local pub. Liam just doesn't feel like a rockstar when it's like this, and he's not sure he wants to.

"It's grand," Liam says, looking across the pillow at Louis with a smile. "It's amazing."

"Thought you'd like it," Louis says softly, edging closer to Liam until their faces are only inches apart. "It's wicked, right?"

"I wish we could do something like this," Liam says with a sigh. His breath lifts a lock of Louis' hair that falls across his forehead, the two of them so close that he can almost feel Louis' heartbeat.

"Who says we can't?" Louis says.

The music goes on, one song flowing into the next like a blurred traffic of cars on a highway, red and white lights and smears of colour brought to life by sound alone. Liam isn't sure if the other boys are even awake, all of them so still and quiet, but he hopes they're feeling the exact same thing he is: in love with music, in love with what they do and have done and will do, in love with what's to come.

When Louis reaches over to grab Liam's hand, it's not even that surprising. It just makes sense that they lace their fingers and hold on to each other in the gap between their bodies, making a bridge so the electricity of the night can flow between them and carry with it the things Liam isn't sure how to say. 

Holding Louis' hand just feels better than not holding his hand, it's that simple. When Louis scoots closer to Liam so he can just tip his head and rest it against his shoulder, that feels right too. 

It's just another way to share whatever it is they've found in each other that matches. They work together so well, making music and sharing ideas that are so similar it's almost impossible to remember who came up with what. When Liam listens to their music again, over and over as he memorises every sound, sometimes it feels as if the songs they write are coming from just one person, one heart.

*

****

**Zurich, Switzerland**

*

After two years of being on tour, Liam has gotten very good at sneaking around hotels in the middle of the night. Whether it's finding a way to get onto the roof so he can have a quick smoke with Zayn or slipping into the gym with Harry after it has been closed for the night, being friends Louis has taught Liam the best ways to get past security and locked doors.

Tonight isn't about mischief, though; it's an escape mission.

"Quiet," Louis whispers as he tiptoes past where Niall and Harry have passed out on the ground in front of their now-paused game of _Call of Duty_. He's holding Liam's binder, a collection of every piece of paper and folded napkin and crumpled-up receipt they've written their songs on, a messy overflowing folder that holds hours of their work. Standing by the door of the hotel room, he angrily motions Liam over. 

Zayn is sleeping on the bed, lying right on top of Liam's favourite hoodie. Slowly, ever so slowly, Liam tries to ease Zayn off of it, gently rolling him inch by inch until he can tug the jumper loose. 

" _Why_ ," Zayn groans, his eyes still closed.

"Go back to sleep, Zaynie," Liam whispers. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Louis grit his teeth in a huff, throwing his arms up in defeat.

"Where're you going," Zayn mumbles dreamily, and Liam can't tell if he's awake or sleeping.

"Nowhere, babe," Liam says, touching Zayn's shoulder comfortingly when – fuck, yes – he finally tugs the hoodie out from under him. "Love you."

"Love you, too," Zayn mutters again, rolling back to the space Liam pushed him from, digging his arms under the pillows and going right back to snoring.

"Some fuckin' James Bond you are," Louis says, opening the door for Liam as he slips past Niall and Harry as well. "Risk it all for a jumper, I should have left you for dead."

"We made it, didn't we?" Liam says, muffled as he pulls on his hoodie. It smells like Zayn, smoke and Gucci, and Liam hugs himself in it. It's not even summer, but the Swiss have got the air conditioners on full blast, chilling Liam to the bone. Even with the hoodie he shivers. "Aren't you cold?"

"It's May," Louis deadpans. As he leads the way, Liam smiles as he spots the goosepimples on Louis' arms, always too proud to admit it.

The hallways are eerily empty compare to the chaos of the hotel during the day (business men, some big dentistry conference, a bunch of fans who managed to get past security), and it makes everything seem so much more hollow and vacant now that they're alone. 

They're both bare foot, and the fuzz of the carpet against skin feels like a tiny rebellion to Liam, like it's something they shouldn't be doing. Somehow everything Louis does has that feel to it though, as if simply being with Louis after midnight is breaking some kind of rule. It's a feeling that shocked Liam at first until he grew to love it, until being with Louis like this made Liam feel oddly proud and beautifully criminal for no reason at all.

The clean polished brass of the lifts pings neatly at every floor, pulling them down to the lobby. When the doors open they're pushed out into the brilliantly white marble of a mezzanine. Their naked toes dig into plush red carpets, surrounded by bright green ferns everywhere. Like everything in Switzerland, it's perfectly manicured and exactly proportionate, a hotel lobby from some luxurious science fiction spaceship. 

"There it is," Louis says, pointing to one of the rooms adjacent the main hall. The front desks are unmanned, and there don't seem to be any security guards around, so they walk casually into what looks like a formal lounge. 

"What's it for?" Liam asks as they walk past the partition and into the enormous, empty room. There's a big dance floor in the middle of the space, a cold fireplace on one wall, and a grand piano sitting in the corner. "Like, dances or something?"

"Weddings, probably," Louis says, covering his yawn with the back of his hand. "Receptions, like."

Liam stops dead on the dance floor, looks around the big white room with its tall ceilings and breathes in its scent of old flowers and pine cleaner. 

"People get married in hotels?" Liam asks, walking slowly to the fireplace and running his fingers over the (immaculately clean, of course) mantle.

"Sure," Louis says, sitting down on the piano bench the wrong way so he can face Liam. "Fancy ones, at least."

"Huh," Liam says, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors. "My mum and dad got married in my nan's back garden. She had these huge rose bushes, still does too. They've got pictures of the ceremony in the house, it's dead gorgeous." Liam smiles, biting down on his lower lip. "Seems kind of weird to have it at a hotel. Hotels are so – like, in-between places. You're there for a day and then, bang, off to another one. They're kind of lonely, y'know?"

"Most people don't travel like we do," Louis says quietly, leaning back against the piano with his legs crossed at the ankles. "Most people, like, get to look at shit when they travel. They stay for more than one day."

Liam laughs at first, but stops short. "I'd like to see the places we visit someday. Come back to them all and have a proper look 'round."

"Yeah, same," Louis says dreamily. Liam can see Louis watching, following him as he walks from the fireplace to a long table full of flowers and then to look up at the crystal chandelier. "Would you go with me?"

Liam whips his head around, looking across the room to where Louis is staring back. "For real?"

The shrug Louis gives seems casual and flippant but even from here Liam can see his smile. "It's just an idea."

"When will we ever get the time?" Liam says with a sigh. "I wanna run off right now. Just grab the boys and go, yeah?"

Louis nods slowly. "I think I'd get married on a beach somewhere far away. Fiji, maybe. Some place private and beautiful with my mates, no cameras or anything. Yeah, right on the beach."

Finishing his tour of the reception room, Liam finally shuffles over to where Louis is sitting at the grand piano. The lid over the keys is closed, and Louis' got his elbows propped up against the shiny black wood. "Would I be your best man?" Liam asks, standing tall over Louis as his smile lifts with a silent laugh.

Louis shrugs again, giving Liam just the ghost of a wink before he reaches forward and grabs his wrist, dragging Liam towards the piano. "Come on, sing us a song, Piano Man."

"You – you want me to play something?" Liam asks, stumbling down onto the piano seat next to Louis. "I thought we were just having an adventure, or like – you wanna write? Tonight? _Here_?"

"Why not?" Louis shrugs. Scooting over to give Liam a spot on the bench, Louis lifts the lid from the piano and looks over at Liam expectantly. "We're here, we're alive, aren't we?"

Sliding into place, Liam can feel the points of contact he has with Louis, from knee to hip, and suddenly he feels his chest tighten like a guitar string, a bundle of nerves inside him knotting when he sees Louis' expectant smile. It happens all at once, seizing Liam up tightly, like the piano has the gravity of a black hole and suddenly drags him down.

When Liam balances his fingers over the keys he can't bear to touch them.

"Just start with that melody we had going, yeah? That one we really liked last time when we were in – uh, when we were – Manchester, maybe?" Louis says. "I can get the notes you made last time, I think you start up on the F or G –"

"I can't," Liam says suddenly.

"What – why not, man?" Louis asks, his voice dropping down a register as he hits sincerity. 

"People could hear us," Liam says, looking around at the still empty room. "Anyone could just walk in, man –"

"There's no one here, Liam," Louis says, his hand resting in the middle of Liam's back, making little circles with his thumb. "The place is deserted, I promise."

"It's just – it's weird, isn't it?" Liam whispers, his voice breaking childishly.

"What's weird?" Louis asks, and Liam can hear the frown in his voice.

"I, just – I was just thinking how the, like – the things we write are so, um, personal, I guess? And, like, I _know_ there's no one here, but I can't just – it's not the same as writing back on the bus, or – I don't know." Liam can't touch the keys just yet, and he drops his hands to his sides. He's so close to Louis that his right hand rests between their thighs, against the soft cotton of their track bottoms. "If I can't even – do this in front of an empty room, how're we gonna do this on _stage_ , man?"

There's a moment of silence as Louis makes a humming noise, thoughtful and soft. "Harry keeps bugging me," Louis says finally. "He really wants to hear what we've got going and sometimes I get so – I trust him so much, it's not even about that, but I still can't – it's like showing someone your diary. Fuck, I'd happily show Harry my diary, but this –"

"Yeah," Liam agrees, a flood of relief just knowing that maybe Louis isn't disappointed in him, maybe understands this feeling as well. "I don't know why this is different, but I can't imagine playing any of this for anyone else. And it's just some bloody pop songs, we're not ripping our hearts out here or anything. But. Yeah."

Louis brings a hand up to the piano keys, brushing his fingertips over them without pressing down. "You think it's 'cause – like, 'cause it's only been us doing it?" It's funny how Louis' accent comes back stronger when he's tired and vulnerable, the Yorkshire thick in every syllable. "Like, if these were only my own things I'd be fine showing them to Harry, but not when it's – us two. That's, like, that's private. That's different. Am I fucking crazy or something?"

It would be so easy to just say that Liam doesn't know why these songs mean so much, but he can remember exactly how it felt to begin each one. The songs they write are like bonfires, and Liam knows that behind every blaze is the spark of a kiss, that first little flicker of light that Liam catches when he tastes Louis' mouth. 

Everything they do ends up feeling like a memory of a time and place, and even as they come up with melodies as cheesy as they are fun, there's a hidden weight behind everything that brings Liam back down to earth. 

It's selfishness, really. Deep down, Liam just doesn't want to share those moments with anyone. He couldn't possibly begin to explain what they mean to someone who wasn't there.

"No, that's exactly what I was thinking," Liam says, bringing his hands back to the piano, just gently touching the keys like Louis is doing, mirroring his position but two octaves down. "Every time we play them melodies over and over I can – I can picture how it feels to – I don't know, be with you, I guess."

Louis is quiet for a while after that. Liam wants to think that maybe he said something wrong, but Louis' fingers stay right on the keys they're meant to be playing, that first little hook on a dumb little song they've almost finished. 

"It's like a conversation, I suppose," Louis says, long fingers crawling up to reach the next muted note in the song. "Because I can hear you in everything."

Ever so carefully, Liam leans a bit closer to Louis, resting his head against the hard round muscle of his shoulder. "I keep writing love songs. When you get me inspired, when you ki – when you're near me, I just keep writing these stupid, awful love songs over and over."

There's a moment of silence between them, so silent Liam thinks Louis might not have heard what he said, but then Liam sees the corner of Louis' mouth curl up in a smirk.

"We'll have to show them to someone eventually," Louis says. "Eventually. Someone will have to know. I don't want to – I just really want people to hear our songs, really hear us."

"I guess we – we have to decide this together, yeah?" Liam asks. 

"Together, yeah," Louis agrees. Taking one hand away from the piano, he offers Liam a fist. Liam bumps it, knuckles cracking together like champagne glasses in a toast. 

With a smile on his face, Louis reaches down to the grand piano and, with a theatrical flair, presses down on the key that starts the song. The note rings out bright and loud in the empty room like a struck bell, echoing even on the wooden floors and arching ceilings. 

Liam glances around quickly to see if anyone heard them, dreading the thought that anyone would overhear even a fraction of the music they've made together. It's only when Liam is sure the coast is clear that he pushes his fingers down and harmonises with the note Louis played.

They play the piano staggered at first, a call and response as Louis carefully plucks out the melody and Liam's left hand brings the harmony just a fraction too late, but they soon find a rhythm that suits them. Liam has practiced enough that he knows he could play both the right and left hand of this song on his own, but it's so much better to do it with Louis; one of two hands, one hemisphere of a brain, one half of a whole.

The hotel staff are either absent or they don't care about the noise, because no one bothers them for the next two hours. The writing is slow and odd at times, but they make it work. It's a strange feeling, playing such a bold and clanging instrument like a grand piano in an empty room, because the huge space makes everything feel dreamy and far away. It's like playing a symphony for an audience of ghosts. 

As the night drags on and Liam thinks about giving in (too tired, too self-conscious, too out of place), Louis is always right beside him to keep him going strong. Sometimes they'll play, sometimes they'll talk in hushed voices, but mostly Louis' fingers will dance around the keys and he finds a way to turn the piano into a game, trying to tangle their fingers together in a mess of clanging, dissonant chords.

Time gets patchy after a while, and no matter how much Liam wants to keep writing they just can't keep up this kind of pace. Liam knows he's starting to nod off, and when Louis goes silent on the piano he knows that Louis is letting him fall asleep this time. 

It's the price of writing on the road, everything done in tiny bursts of passion, these brilliant little moments Liam cherishes but fade out fast, fireworks and flares in the dead of night, Liam only getting a splinter of a second to _ooh_ and _aah_ at them with Louis.

Liam doesn't know how long he's been out for but he wakes up with a jolt, his jaw banging against Louis shoulder as he jerks upright.

"Sun's coming up," Louis says softly.

Blearily, Liam looks down at the new scribbles they've written, the chords that have been crossed out and rewritten, circled sections of music attached to labels like _guitar solo_ and _Zayn's does cool vocals here_. In only a couple hours they've come up with a hundred new ideas, some of them terrible and crumpled up, some of them broken but special, and some of them as sweet and soft and memorable as the way Louis kisses. 

"It's dawn already?" Liam asks, groaning. "God, today's going to fucking miserable."

"I know," Louis says with a grin.

"We did good, didn't we?" Liam asks. A part of him suspecting they did _very_ good, but Liam wants Louis to confirm it.

Louis nods slowly. "The boys are going to love it."

"I think so, too," Liam whispers. "It's exactly – us. It's us."

"And they love us," Louis murmurs dreamily. "So they'll love the song."

Deep down, Liam knows it's true. Even when his bravery fails and his confidence plummets and he can't put his fingers down on piano keys in case someone might hear, Liam knows the kind of love Louis is talking about. There's nothing they could write that the boys wouldn't love, because they've earned each other. 

Somehow all the things that Liam fought to hide when he was younger – the irritating perfectionism, the occasional stupidity, the self-conscious blushing, the earnest joy – have become the parts that the boys love most, that Louis loves most about him. There's nothing left to hide because Liam knows he's already loved.

"Sun's up?" Liam asks.

"Sun's up," Louis says, standing up from the bench and walking towards the huge plate glass windows. 

The hotel has a view of Lake Zurich, and what was once just a black painting of the world is starting to glow with the rising sun. The horizon is a jagged line, the teeth of the mountains lit up from behind like they've been stitched into the world with silver thread. As the sky is lit like wildfire, the flat line of the lake reflects the rust-coloured clouds like bright islands in the water. 

"Wow," Liam breathes out. "I guess maybe we did kind of see Switzerland, eh?"

"Sunrise over the Alps," Louis says, nodding slowly. "That's a pretty cool thing to see."

There's the ding of a bell coming from the other room, early bird guests speaking murmured German as they check into the hotel. Knowing that there are other people awake kind of drains the spirit from Liam. He can feel the way the new morning light is trying to steal the privacy of his night with Louis, and he hates letting go of the last few hours. 

It might be stupid, but Liam doesn't want a new day, new responsibilities; it's only a few minutes gone but Liam already misses the long, sleepless hours of darkness. 

After hours of writing, Liam is kind of delirious with exhaustion and spent emotions, and even though he's could probably fall asleep in the middle of an earthquake, something about being with Louis just makes him want to stay awake. Even just a few hours of sleep feels like too much time spent away from Louis right now.

Reaching over, Liam puts a hand on the small of Louis' back and holds it there, childishly hoping this might last forever.

"God, look at that," Louis says as the sun finally peeks up from behind the mountains, whispering like he's afraid of scaring it away. 

Louis doesn't fall for things like Liam does, his enthusiasm always coming with a shade of irony or sarcasm, but when he does love something he loves it deeply and truly and absolutely.

"It's beautiful," Liam says, liking the way Louis' voice gets when he's properly stunned and happy.

As they stand together watching as the sun paints the snow-capped mountains gold, Liam suddenly decides that morning isn't all that bad. It's hard to hate anything when he's looking at it with Louis.

*

****

**Verona, Italy**

*

Rooms with balconies. That's what Zayn insisted on when they were going over the tour schedule months ago. The second he saw the Italian dates, Zayn insisted that their hotel in Verona have balconies. At the time it got a laugh from Harry and Niall, but it took Liam four months (and a late night viewing of Baz Luhrmann's _Romeo + Juliet_ , hosted by Harry) before he understood why.

Stepping out onto the fabled balcony of his hotel room, Liam grins. It's a wide marble curve, huge and immoveable, the great big slab of the railing almost a foot thick, held up by white pillars as big around as tree-trunks. With hands on the marble, cool even though the sun is high and loud in the sky, he looks out over the city. 

Like all of Italy, it's a puzzling mix of the old and the new cramped together in the same place. There are one Euro stores tucked inside palaces made of pink stone and baked clay roof tiles the colour of rust; an Apple store next to the historical home of some ancient Latin writer; a McDonalds decked out with mosaic floors and Roman sculptures. It makes him wonder how anyone could live their whole life here, doing simple, everyday tasks in a city that looks like it was made for a gladiator movie.

Life back home is nothing like this. Industry, rain, things built for practicality rather than beauty. The biggest buildings where Liam grew up were giant red brick factories, one hundred and fifty years old, the mills where every single generation of his family worked up until he was chosen among thousands for a chance at something else. That was all he had growing up; well, that and the same identical old cathedral that every city in England seems to have.

The streets of Wolverhampton are just as narrow and claustrophobic as the ones here, but instead of Renaissance cream and rose there are chip shops and closed-down British Leyland car dealerships and travel agencies advertising last minute flights to Corfu for £99. Not even a handful of magic.

"Romeo, Romeo," Louis says. He's out on his own balcony, the room right next to Liam's, and he walks up to put his hands on the balustrade, just like Liam is doing.

Liam laughs, squinting against the sun and giving Louis a little wave. "Let down your hair, eh?"

Even from a distance he can hear Louis chuckle. "No, uh. That's Rapunzel, babe."

"What am I thinking of then?" Liam asks, looking down at his hands spread flat against the cold marble, forgetting which fairy tale he stepped into this time.

"Wherefore art thou, Romeo?" Louis suggests, which sounds right, yeah. 

"Smelling a rose, sweet roses," Liam goes on, making Louis laugh harder. "Oh, where are you, Romeo?" Liam gives a wistful little sigh, glad to see that makes Louis grin as well.

"Well," Louis says with a grunt as he hops up to stand on the railing. He walks along right to the edge, nearest to Liam's own balcony. There's only a foot separating their railings, but below him is a thirty yard drop. "You're close enough, I guess –" 

"Louis! –" Liam suddenly shouts, impulsively stretching his arms out. 

Louis makes the jump easily, his trainers landing with a squeak on the marble of Liam's balcony. He hops down and stands next to Liam smiling and cheerful like he didn't just do the stupidest thing ever. 

"It's actually _wherefore art thou, Romeo?_ " Louis says, finishing his sentence by putting a hand on Liam's waist and taking his place beside him. "It doesn't mean 'where are you?' it means 'why are you a Montague?' Or is it Capulet? Whatever."

"How the hell do you know that?" Liam asks. The afternoon is burning down late and the day is at its warmest, a blinding orange heat made worse by the shining marble buildings around them. Even the little piazza below is made of white cobblestones and reflects the blinding heat like a tanning bed. 

"Wanted to be a drama teacher, didn't I?" Louis says. "Zayn thinks he's the only fucking genius around here, Christ."

Sweat prickles on Liam's upper lip, sticky against his two days' worth of stubble. Under his loose tank top, the sweat slides down in drops on his ribs, a tickle he doesn't dare scratch. Damp gathers at the small of his back where Louis keeps his hand, pressing the cotton of his tank top against his skin. Liam knows he stinks, he knows he's the smelliest, grossest, sweatiest mess of a boy that ever lived (Louis has said it enough, making damn sure Liam could never forget it), but Louis doesn't move his hand.

"It's weird, isn't it?" Liam asks, tipping his sunglasses down from where they were perched on his head, black clubmasters he splurged on months and months ago, before he realised how much money they were really going to make and the free stuff that would come along with it. "You just wanted to teach the play, and now you're kind of living it."

"What d'you mean?" Louis asks, his brow furrowing as he looks down from the balcony at the small cafe down in the piazza, watching the tourists enjoying cappuccinos on cheap metal chairs, the distant sound of an accordion playing to fit the postcard moment.

"I mean, like," Liam says, taking a deep breath. "You wanted to do drama and stuff, wanted to teach that play, but now you're actually _here_ , in Verona. Like, it's not some name on the page, it's a place we get to visit," Liam says, turning to look at Louis. "If you asked me three years ago, I never would've thought I'd ever leave England. Never mind, like, being here." Louis tilts his head curiously, nodding slowly along to what Liam is saying. "I bet Shakespeare never even got to see this city, and here we are."

"Well, there weren't any planes back then, babe," Louis says softly, trying for a joke even as his voice sounds thoughtful.

"You know what I mean," Liam says flatly.

"Yeah, I do," Louis says, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I knew, though. I knew we'd leave England. I believed we would, yeah. I really thought we could do it."

"You know what I mean," Liam says again, softer this time.

"I know," Louis says, and Liam can feel the way he rubs his thumb against the small of his back.

"You really shouldn't jump across balconies to be with me," Liam says.

"Oh." Louis purses his lips tightly before they lift into a smile. "What should I do to be with you, then?"

There's nothing to say to that. If it was anyone else this would feel like flirting, something Liam was never good at. He knows it has something to do with letting your sentences trail off, hiding promises behind witty jokes, but he was never that good at wit or hiding. It's just Louis though, and Liam knows that he doesn't need to say things he doesn't mean, or pretend to say one thing when he means another. 

"Dunno," Liam says. "You don't have to do anything, man. You don't need to impress me."

Louis laughs, blowing upwards against his lank hair. "You really do think you're all that, don't you? Impress you, Christ." Louis laughs again, the fading kind. "I've never tried to impress you."

"God, this place is so pretty," Liam says, ignoring Louis' lie with a smile. He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath of Italian air and all its coffee grounds and jasmine and lime leaves. He places it in his mind and pins it down.

"What're you doing?" Louis asks.

Keeping his eyes closed, Liam takes in another deep breath. "Remembering it. I read this thing on Facebook, my mum sent it to me, and it's all about how smells and memory are, like, really important to each other. It said that smells bring back the strongest memories."

"And what do you smell?" Louis asks, balancing on the edge of laughter.

"Flowers," Liam murmurs. "Something sour, like a motorway. Heat, like, uh, like hot metal, you know?" Liam opens his eyes. "You."

"Me?"

"You stink," Liam says.

"It's fucking hot," Louis says, getting a good punch against Liam's shoulder. "You're no fucking rose yourself."

"By any other name," Liam says, and Louis' laugh is enough to make Liam know that he got it right.

"Just when I think I have you figured out, Payno, you go and do something like this. This is some fucking _Love Actually_ rubbish, man."

"What do you wanna remember about this place?" Liam asks, pushing his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to get a good look at Louis. "Probably not my sweat, huh?"

Louis shrugs. "I'm okay with that. I'll put up a map in my room, put a pin in every place where your smell made my eyes water. It's the one most important for memory, right?"

Liam doesn't laugh, but he does smile. "Louis –"

Before he has a chance to say anything more, Louis leans over and kisses him. 

Everything that came before this, all the little pecks on the lips had become such a nice routine that Liam never really thought more of them. They were kisses goodnight, or to get Liam to shut up, or to make him blush; Liam was used to those kisses, seeing them as a kind of currency of Louis' friendship, but this breaks the pattern in such a glorious way.

It's the middle of the day, neither of them have anywhere to go, no excuse to make after about going to bed or leaving for a few days. It's a kiss that surprises Liam when none of the others has done that, a surprise that sparks through him and makes his fingers and toes tingle. It's a kiss that makes him gasp a little and open his mouth only to feel Louis angle his head a bit and trap Liam's bottom lip between his own. The edge of his sunglasses digs against Louis' cheek, and Liam feels Louis' hand press tighter against the small of his back.

"Yeah," Louis murmurs as he pulls away. "I think that'll do for a memory."

Liam doesn't know what to say. He's never been good at flirting, he's never been good at hiding things from Louis. "Wow."

The smirk Louis gives is infuriating and wonderful, as is the ghost of a wink he gives and the nudge he jams into Liam's ribs. "Come on, dude. Let's go write a fucking song." 

Louis doesn't wait for Liam, he just walks in through the open French doors without a care in the world. The curtains by the windows are billowing in the wind, white flags that frame Louis as he bounces down onto Liam's feather bed and grabs a pen and a pad of hotel stationery, rolling over on his stomach and waiting for Liam to join him.

It takes a moment before Liam even remembers to breathe again. He stands there on his balcony, stunned and blissful, thinking about how strange speaking out loud feels now that Louis has touched his mouth. 

Feeling greedy about these moments comes so quickly to Liam, especially when he thought for so long that it couldn't possibly happen twice. Three times. More. Each moment is a bit bigger than the kiss that came before, and each one of them lures Liam into an idea: this could happen again.

He wants it to happen again.

Following Louis back into the bedroom, Liam takes a deep breath. He's not saying that the article he read about smell and memory was wrong, but he's pretty sure that when he remembers Verona he's going to think about Louis, and the sound of the song they're about to write, and how safe it felt to kiss him on a marble balcony in the honesty of bright sunlight.

*

****

**Madrid, Spain**

*

For Liam, the colour of Spain is orange. The dust in the roads, the city lights at night, the bricks of the Cathedrals. It feels hot even when it's not, like being baked in an oven. The walls of their fancy hotel are painted orange as well, the arched doorways and cavernous ceilings like a big pottery kiln.

Even the moon, full and pale, looks orange when it first rises above the hills. _A harvest moon_ , Zayn says when Niall first spots it, dragging them out of the tapas restaurant to go look at it.

By eleven o'clock at night Liam is sweaty and tired and drawn out, clothes sticking tightly to his skin and the dry heat making his hair feel dirty and matted. The minute he steps inside Harry's hotel room, everyone starts stripping down to their boxers, throwing their limp, damp clothes on the ground. 

There's no plan for the night, they could do anything they wanted, but, like always, they clump together and live in one room like they're back in the X-Factor house.

Harry flips on the television and claims the shower first. Zayn goes out to the window to have a cigarette, neatly blowing each stream of smoke outside. Niall rustles around the fridge for a can of lager, his boxers sliding down to just show the rounded top of his ass. And Louis walks right over to Liam and sits down next to him on the bed, leaning over to kiss Liam's bare shoulder when he thinks no one is watching. 

It's a routine. It's the thing that makes far-away feel close. It's another country, but the same feeling of home.

There was no show tonight, but Liam still has music running through his mind. He always does these days, because thinking about music means thinking about Louis, and vice versa. It's there when Liam wakes up in the morning, it's there when he's playing FIFA with Harry, or riding around the stadium on a golf cart with Zayn, or helping Niall do his knee exercises in the afternoon. It's there when Liam goes to bed at night, thinking about the tunes they've finished and the ones they have yet to write and the kisses Louis gives, each one as different as the songs they belong to.

"What are you thinking about?" Louis mumbles. It's hard to hear him over the sound of the TV, and Zayn and Niall's conversation, and the sound of Harry's shower, so Liam leans closer.

"That song you started the other day," Liam whispers. "Just thinking about it – and you, I guess."

"It's funny like that, isn't it?" Louis says. "'Cause whenever I think about music, or writing, or whatever, I think about you. Your stupid face."

"When we weren't touring, I used to listen to the songs we helped write on the last album," Liam says, taking the insult with the love it was intended. "I can still pick out the little details you helped add. The little noise, you remember –"

" _Ow_ ," Louis imitates with a laugh. "That was good, wasn't it?"

"It's like I've always got you with me, when I listen to them songs –" Liam says, but Louis shushes him before he can say anything else.

"Don't get all soft," Louis says with a commanding laugh. He settles down immediately after, and Liam can see as Louis bites down on his bottom lip. "But seriously, I'm so fucking proud of you, of us, of –"

"Shh," Liam says, putting a finger against Louis' lip, a finger that Louis tries to bite. "Don't get all soft on _me_ , dude."

"Our thing?" Louis asks, holding out a fist.

"Our thing," Liam assures him, and he bumps his own fist to Louis'. It's as good as any kiss, it means as much. Fuck, Liam is pretty sure Louis could punch him square in the jaw and Liam would still feel this bright golden clench of joy in his chest.

*

Liam invents the rhyming game, but it's Louis who adds the vodka shot penalties.

Bored of looking at rhyme generators on the internet, Liam decides to throw the lyrics at the rest of the boys. By now he has a notebook full of ideas, most of them variations on the same love story, but he figures if writing rock songs about falling in love with girls was good enough for Elvis, then it's good enough for him.

"So, I'll just throw you a word," Liam explains as the five of them gather in a circle at the foot of the bed, "and you have to come up with a rhyme, and the first one who messes up –"

"– has to take a shot," Louis interrupts. He's holding an armful of the tiny bottles of liquor from the mini-bar. "No exceptions."

"Easy enough," Niall says, taking a tiny bottle of Jack Daniels from Louis and cracking open the top, draining it in one. "That was just for practice," Niall says, giving a loud burp as he pounds the middle of his chest with his fist.

Zayn laughs at Niall, tongue bitten between his teeth, and he grabs a bottle of vodka from Louis and downs his own.

"Guys, guys, the point is _not_ to drink," Liam says.

"What kind of game is that, then?" Zayn asks. 

"Just go on," Louis murmurs against Liam's ear, his breath hot. "Like herding fucking cats, man."

"All right," Liam says, looking to the ceiling for a second, searching for a good word. "How about, um. How about _Spain_? Appropriate, I think."

"Rain, plane, claim, main – wait." Niall frowns. "Isn't that already a thing?"

"The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain," Zayn says. He's got his arms linked around his knees, thin and wiry, his dark tattoos shadowed along his chest and shoulders, and he's grinning foolishly at Harry.

"By George, I think he's got it," Harry adds, making Zayn laugh again. "Good job, Doolittle."

"What?" Liam says, looking between the two of them. "Doctor Doolittle?" Both Harry and Zayn laugh again at that. "Guys, you're not playing right."

"Guys!" Louis shouts dramatically. "You're not playing right!"

"Thanks, Louis," Liam mumbles, stopping himself from rolling his eyes. "Just one word each, okay?"

"When do I get to drink?" Harry asks, reaching towards Louis for a bottle. Louis slaps his hand away. "Hey!"

"Not until you fuck up," Louis says. "Come on, think of a better word, Liam."

Liam bites down on his bottom lip. "How about, uh, _Monday_?"

Zayn groans. "Dude, nothing rhymes with Monday."

"Fun day," Niall suggests. "One day?"

"How about _timber_?" Louis suggests.

There's a moment of silence, each of them furrowing their brows as they try to think of something.

"Limber," Zayn says first, looking at Niall next.

"Uh. Kimber?" Niall says. "What?" he asks, looking at their frowns. "It's a name, probably. Shut up, it's a word."

Harry is silent for a long time but he suddenly brightens up. "Marim... ber."

"Marimber?" Zayn asks, giving an incredulous laugh.

"Yeah, like, the ringtone," Harry says, pulling out his phone. "When it rings, you know? Marim – uh, ber. Marimber."

"Jesus," Niall says under his breath.

"Liam?" Louis asks next, his smirk already waiting as he shakes a tiny bottle of rum in his direction.

"Um." Liam frantically searches his memory. He's pretty sure pimber, gimber, fimber, and dimber aren't words. "Shit, um."

"Simper," Zayn says. "Whimper."

"Stop taking them all," Liam says, slapping at Zayn's knee. "Uhhh." Louis really seems to be loving this, his grin wolfish as he waits for the rhyme he knows Liam won't come up with. 

The lyrics were never Liam's strong points, always pushing Louis for ideas when they were writing together. He was always just too in love with the funny little turns of phrase Louis comes up with, or the incredibly filthy couplets he puts in the chorus. "Shit."

"Drink!" Louis says, slapping the tiny bottle into Liam's hand. "Dimmer, sinner, slimmer," Louis says as Liam cracks open the top. "It's easy, come on. Look alive, dude."

Funnily enough, Liam actually gets better at the game the more he drinks. The liquor makes him loopy and creative, coming up with rhymes that make everyone laugh (his rhyme of _door hinge_ for _orange_ is so good that all of the boys end up taking a shot), especially Louis. 

Like making music, it seems to be the only laughter that matters.

After four or five drinks each, the game starts to fall apart until they all just list off rhymes for _penis_ , laughing so hard they can barely get a word out. The alcohol makes Liam so much hotter, and the rest of the boys join him as he crawls over to the tile floor of the hotel's small kitchenette, lying back almost-naked on the cold ground as they all take tiny swigs from the tiny bottles and pass them around like a joint.

Music starts playing, an iPod with small portable speakers that makes _Champagne Supernova_ sound tinny and far away. Liam isn't sure who put it on until Louis crawls down onto the floor next to him.

"Because maybe," Liam sings along, his voice sloppy from the booze, "you're gonna be the one that saves me –"

"Wrong one," Louis says, pressing his grin against the skin of Liam's shoulder. 

Liam has started to notice that it's the place on his body Louis seems to love most, always planting small kisses there, even when they're in a room full of people. Liam knows it's because it's a thing that most people wouldn't notice, just a quick press of his lips to Liam's shoulder when they're standing side by side, but to Liam it's important because it means Louis is right beside him.

"Shit, you're right," Liam says. "Which one is this?"

"So, you know we have our break soon, right?" Louis asks. The question sounds like Louis has spent a while thinking about it, asking it like something he's been trying to tell Liam all night.

"Sure," Liam says. It's been something he's been looking forward to and dreading for the past week, craving the time off but wondering how the hell he's going to make it that long on his own.

"We should write during it," Louis says slowly, like he's thinking out each word. "You should come over a few times, we'll have some drinks and really get to work." The pause he leaves after it is expectant, and Louis turns his head to look at Liam like he's judging his reaction. "And I don't mean like at Harry's bungalow, I mean actually work." Another pause. "Well, we'll fucking try to at least."

Liam might be a little drunk, and he leans over and presses his mouth to Louis' bare shoulder. In a second he understands why Louis loves doing that. "I'd really, really love that."

Louis swallows and nods, and Liam kind of marvels at how nervous Louis is. He's seen him jumpy before a show or a big live television performance, but he's never seen Louis just nervous to say something. It makes what he's asking feel so much bigger than just a few days messing around with a guitar, the slightly nervous twitch in his voice (something he knows Louis would deny if he ever brought it up) making his casual offer sound kind of soft and needy.

"It'll be amazing," Liam says, reassuringly. Without really thinking about it, he reaches over and grabs Louis' hand and gives it a squeeze. "I had no fucking idea how I was going to go a month alone anyway."

The laugh Louis gives not only erases the nervousness in his voice, but it makes him come alive again.

"We'll make some memories," Louis says. There's a touch of smirking danger to his words and Liam can only imagine what making a memory might mean. Breaking into the London Zoo? Stealing a royal guard's bearskin hat? Having a water balloon fight in the National Gallery?

And then Louis squeezes Liam's hand and settles in soft and drunk and vulnerable against his side. Truth is, ever since Louis pressed a kiss against his lips on a balcony in Verona, making memories has begun to mean something entirely different to Liam.

*

****

**Wolverhampton, UK**

*

There is nothing better than being back home. Not being chauffeured around the world, not drinking champagne straight from the bottle, not staying in expensive hotels or going to fancy after-parties or eating at amazing restaurants. For Liam, there's nothing he likes more than that _feeling_ , that giddy fizzing in the pit of his stomach when the taxi pulls up in front of his parents' house.

After the first hellos and the squeezing hugs from his sisters and his parents' demands for all his good stories over a nice cup of builder's tea in the living room, he finds himself back in the quiet little cave of his childhood bedroom. 

Liam pulls on track bottoms and a hoodie, sleeves rolled up and his feet bare, and he sits on his bed with his laptop, idly scrolling through all the things he hasn't had time to catch up on since tour started. A thousand and one e-mails, a whole playlist of YouTube videos to watch, a pile of unopened DVDs he amassed on tour.

It's the gift of boredom, and Liam unwraps it slowly.

The house is filled with all the familiar smells he loves most, the best of all being his mum's cooking: steak and Yorkshire puddings and peas with butter perfuming everything with the heavy, solid feeling of being a kid again. It's the meal he remembers eating after another failed solo performance, fourteen years old and singing in front of audiences of ten or twelve people. It's the meal he remembers eating after he was chosen for the X-Factor, too. Liam can't help but grin and kick his feet back and forth, resting on his stomach as he takes deep sniffs of his sheets, his old clothes, just the air of his home. 

This whole trip was a promise he made before he left for tour, swearing that he'd be back home as soon as they had a break, and he's happy to fulfill it. Just the idea of having a shower with all the soaps and shampoos he's used to feels like such a reward, so much better than any of the fancy shit they're given for free by advertisers or in goody bags after an awards show. 

Despite all of that, the very best part of home is knowing his sisters are right there, just down the hall, ready to listen to any of his problems even if it's the middle of the night. It's nice knowing his dad is downstairs in his usual chair yelling at the football match on TV, already giving Liam an invitation for a night out with a few pints and a game of snooker. 

It's nicest knowing where he belongs.

And then his mobile rings. 

Liam swings his head over the side of the bed, fumbling through his crumpled jeans for his ringing phone. When he tugs it out of a loose pocket, a picture of Louis fills up the screen. It's a photo Liam took months ago of Louis pulling a goofy monkey face with cheeks puffed out and lips curled in, loving it so much that he tagged it to the caller ID: _The Tommo_.

"I've been gone, what, two days?" Liam says instead of _hello_.

"Mum insists on taking us all out for a big fancy dinner," Louis says, a huff in his voice. "I step in the door and she's already putting me in a suit."

"Come on, you love it," Liam says, flipping over onto his back. He stares up at his ceiling fan, at the tiny little cracks in the corners of his bedroom, that geography of peeling paint that he remembers from long sleepless nights worrying about going to school the next day. 

Louis is silent for a second. "Oh, shut up. I just love seeing her get happy when the family's back together."

"Mum's making Yorkshire pud, and I'm already in my jogging bottoms," Liam says, can't help but keep the smile off his face.

The groan Louis gives reeks of jealousy. "Your sisters there?"

"Yep," Liam says. "They can't get over all the muscle I've put on, keep jabbing me in the stomach."

"Their very own Hulk," Louis says. His voice gets softer, a little further away when he says it, losing the edge of the joke. "God, I missed my sisters," Louis says quietly. "The twins keep getting bigger and bigger, I don't get it. I'll be gone three months and it's like they've aged three years. I'm surprised they even remember me."

Liam smiles, the thoughtless smile of just feeling good. He closes his eyes, sighs deeply, and imagines Louis with all his tattoos and those sharp mischievous blue eyes fawning over his primary school sisters. Louis has always been good with little kids, but Liam knows that's nothing compared with the way he is with his own flesh and blood. Even as he pictures Louis with a sister on each knee watching television, with that smile he gets when he's really properly happy, Liam knows that the reality of it probably looks so much sweeter.

"I really wanna see them," Liam says. "I haven't seen your family in so long."

"They always talk about you, man. They have drawings of all five of us up on the fridge," Louis says. He sounds like the way he does when he talks about his heroes, this kind of earnest burst of emotion. "God, they're perfect. You should come see us, they'll lose their minds. They're just so – funny, and smart, and full of silly, amazing ideas. Definitely a family trait, that." Louis gives a laugh that settles into a thoughtful hum. "They're so – good. They're not fuck-ups like us."

"They'll never be fuck-ups with you as their big bro." Liam's cheeks hurt from smiling. "I wish I had younger siblings sometimes, someone who would look up to me like that instead of slapping me upside the head and stealing my chips at dinner."

"I wish I had older ones," Louis says. 

"You can have mine," they both say at the same time, laughing at each other afterwards. 

"It's so nice being back home," Liam says, feeling his own voice relax, the way he speaks when it's three in the morning and he's just saying what he means without thinking. "I could get used to this. Man, I really could."

There's a pause from Louis' end of the phone, a little murmur of agreement and then nothing.

"I miss you," Liam says quietly.

"I miss you, too," Louis says in a rush, like he was worried that he was the only one.

"I'll be back in the city in three days," Liam says. "You?"

"Maybe a couple days after you," Louis replies. "Listen, shit, I have to go."

"Go, go," Liam says. "Say hi to your family for me."

"Will do," Louis says. There's a moment of hesitation, like Louis is about to say something but changes his mind at the last second. "See you later, dude."

"Soon," Liam assures him.

"Liam?"

"Yeah?"

Silence. "Uh. Bye."

"Later," Liam corrects him. "Not long."

There's a click as Louis hangs up, but Liam keeps holding the phone. The weight of the mobile is so warm on his face, the shell of his ear burning from keeping it pressed tight. Liam doesn't move and inch, like there's still someone on the other line. He keeps thinking about all the things Louis said: the twins, getting dressed up for a family dinner out, the promise of getting together in London. And he thinks about the things Louis didn't say, ghostly words unspoken in the silent crackle of distance between them.

Liam doesn't move, even when he hears Ruth clear her voice from behind his closed bedroom door. He only sits upright when she raps her knuckles against the wood.

"Yeah?" Liam asks, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and stretching his arms to the ceiling.

Ruth toes the door of his bedroom open. "Tea's ready – God, you've only been here a few hours and your bedroom already stinks," Ruth says, her smile slanted and kind as she looks down at him. 

Liam shrugs and grins, happy in his domain. "I do my best."

"Liam, do you –" Ruth pauses, tilting her head to one side and letting her straight blonde hair fall in a curtain against her shoulder, " – are you dating anyone? Anyone new?"

"What?" Liam asks, raising his eyebrows. "No, no, I'm not. Why're you asking?"

Ruth shakes her head. "Nothing, just the way you sounded over when you were on the phone." She frowns at his look of shock. "Come on, you talk loud enough I'm pretty sure I could hear you downstairs, Liam. It's not eavesdropping if you were shouting."

"Oh, shut up," Liam says automatically. "Uh – but, what do you mean, how I was on the phone?"

"I don't know, it's just the way you get when you're talking to a girlfriend, like when you used to call Danielle." She shakes her head. "I don't know, you just have this tone or something. Your voice changes a little bit. I don't know, I guess I was wrong."

Liam frowns for a second. "My voice changes?"

"You just sound really happy," Ruth says, throwing his door open wider to let Liam pass as she leads the way downstairs. "That's all. Just a big sister's observation. Relax, already."

Liam laughs, plants a hand on Ruth's shoulder. "It's 'cause I'm here," Liam says, and he means it. He's happy he's here, he's happy about his _tone_ , he's happy for so many things. He's happy that one phone call to Louis and his voice _changes_ , whatever that means. "I love you, Ruthie."

"You're such a loser," Ruth says fondly, bumping her hip with his.

"I sure am," Liam says, and without giving her a chance to say anything more, he dashes ahead and races down the stairs, a whoop of laughter as she swears at him.

"Not fair, dickhead!" she says as she runs after him.

*

****

**London, UK**

*

London without Louis is rainy, peaceful, half-empty. There are only a couple of days before Louis gets back from Doncaster, and Liam has the brilliant idea of writing some new material so they'll have something to work on, jumping right back into the music together.

It's a great plan, but Liam never realised how boring living on his own is, never mind trying to write music alone. The seven o'clock alarm he sets for himself his first day back in the city slowly gets stretched out – eight, nine, noon – until he's waking up in the light of the afternoon and not changing out his pyjamas unless he needs to go out to meet an old friend for dinner or to pick up some groceries. 

He fills the hours with videogames instead, DVDs Louis left over before they went on tour, only occasionally summoning enough motivation to wash the dishes piling up in his sink and get a start on the loads of washing he needs to do.

For three days, the guitar Liam brought back from tour stays in its case. The keyboard he bought for his house sits silent under its dustcover. He hasn't even unpacked the pages of notes he has from the last three months, still tucked away in a folder in a knapsack with airplane tags from seven different countries. 

It's not that Liam doesn't try. In the morning, in the afternoon, in the evening after a few beers; he tries and tries to write something good. Something Louis would like. It's just that every time he gets blocked a little, looking for the right note or a good rhyme, Liam realises there's no one there to help him and he just kind of gives up.

Skyping with Zayn takes the edge off, so does e-mailing Harry and the almost daily five-minute phone calls with Niall. Even though Liam never has anything better than "ah, not much, just pottered around in the house a little bit" to answer Niall's questions about what he's been up to, just hearing his voice every day is enough to make the house feel a bit more full.

But it doesn't fill the space.

Liam knows he's being stupid. He was looking forward to this only two weeks ago, thinking of all the things he could get done during his time off, but less than a week later he's already counting down the days.

Given the proper time to relax, to leave the tour behind for a little bit, Liam knows he could get used to the silence, but the first taste of being alone is always the hardest to get over. Silence has never felt as silent as it does after the chaos of his time with the boys. It gets so bad that during the first few days back home, Liam will find himself looking over his shoulder, ready to share a sudden idea or joke only to realise his apartment is empty.

Being on tour for so long is like getting used to the noise of an outdoor rock concert, that huge volume that is so shocking at first but soon becomes as familiar as a heartbeat, so used to the ear-ringing noise that coming home seems achingly hollow. 

It feels just like when he has a chance to go surfing and the way he gets used to the cold water of the ocean and it starts to feel like home. There's nothing worse than walking out of it into the sharp wind, his legs swaying on firm sand as he misses the way the waves push him back and forth. 

Here he stands at home, in his own apartment, and his legs are shaky even on solid ground.

Liam doesn't text Louis. He knows Louis has a full schedule back home, and somehow the thought of only getting a little bit of Louis is worse than getting nothing at all. He doesn't want to dip his toe into the water, he wants to jump in and feel the shock of it hitting him all over. It's why touching the music they made seems impossible, and Liam knows that even if he wanted to try to write something now it would feel like one of his ears is plugged, like one hand is tied behind his back.

No, if Liam is going to make music, he wants all of Louis or none at all.

It takes discipline. Not texting, not calling, not picking up his guitar. Liam begins to wonder how he made it sixteen years without Louis when he can barely make it a full week.

*

One day before Louis is due to come home, Liam gets a text late in the evening.

Liam is just finishing up his second pot noodle of the evening, sitting cross-legged on his couch and watching football highlights in his track bottoms and no shirt, when his phone rattles between the empty mugs of tea and crumpled beer cans on his coffee table.

_Guess where I am_. That's all Louis sends, his full message four words long, and Liam is dressed and out of the house in fewer than five minutes.

London is one of those cities that manages to have traffic at ten o'clock at night, and Liam drums his hands on the wheel and bites his lip between his teeth as he thinks about how many blocks he has to drive before he reaches Louis' apartment. 

Counting them down (eight, seven, a good flow of traffic, four, three) Liam starts to wonder why the hell he's doing this. Louis didn't say anything about coming over, he's probably exhausted and just wanted to check in with Liam, but, fuck, it's the first time they talked since the phone call and Liam just finds himself drawn to Louis like gravity.

Two blocks, one.

Liam doesn't even have a clue what they're going to do once he gets there. He didn't bring any of their stuff, not even his notes, and he doesn't even know if Louis is in the mood to get writing again immediately. 

Maybe Louis is tired of writing, maybe he just wants a break. Or worse: maybe Louis hasn't been putting off writing something like Liam has been doing, maybe he's already got loads of stuff, maybe he's got songs he wrote all on his own, songs that don't need Liam's voice on them at all. 

None of that matters, though. The only thing Liam knows for sure is what he's going to do the second he sees Louis.

The visitor's parking for Louis' building is empty, and Liam almost forgets to lock his car before he runs into the lobby and thumbs the button on the lift.

As he's carried ten, fifteen stories in the air, Liam is still breathing like he ran a marathon. The pulse in his throat is almost seismic, like a diver whose air went out on the ocean floor and he's racing to the surface, his chest aching for the first breath of air that will save him. The lift carries him closer and closer to the sky, but not nearly fast enough.

Liam is still out of breath when he knocks on Louis' door. His legs are shaking, thumbs fidgeting at the waist of his track bottoms, his bare ankles showing above the tops of his trainers because he didn't even take a second to put on socks before he came over here. 

Shoes without socks: Louis will probably get a kick out of that.

"Damn," Louis says when he swings open his front door. "You're getting a huge tip for bringing the pizza round that quick, mate."

Liam doesn't even take a second to laugh, he just rushes into the open door and slides his hands across Louis' cheeks and kisses him. There's no time to think about how he wants to kiss him, if he wants to make it slow and lingering or hot and fast, he just kisses Louis because he's spent days underwater and now he has finally broken the surface.

Louis makes a noise of surprise but quickly fades into Liam's kiss. There's a smirk on his lips, but instead of making any more noise he puts his hands on Liam's hips and lets himself get pulled in. Liam can even feel as Louis goes on tip toes, and he has to hide his laugh.

The frantic pace in Liam's body starts to loosen, and he can feel everything start to slow and stretch and linger. Their lips are parted just a little, enough that Liam can take Louis' bottom lip between his teeth to tug it a bit. One hand slides back against Louis' head, gets in the soft, unwashed silk of his hair and holds him close.

"Hey," Liam says, pulling back just enough to speak, pressing his forehead against Louis'. "Wanna write a song?"

"Yeah," Louis says, a huff of breath like amazement. "Of course I do, man."

Liam lets his hands drop away from Louis' face. He takes an embarrassed step back, only now feeling the heat jump into his cheeks. Putting his hands by his sides, Liam fidgets with the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms nervously. "Shit, I didn't even bring my stuff."

Louis gives a one-shouldered shrug as he steps aside to let Liam into the apartment. "Who cares? We'll figure it out."

Liam walks into Louis' apartment and down the hall, his fingertips skimming against the walls as he remembers the shape of this place, wondering at how easily any place feels like home if Louis is in it. Even his own apartment never felt this familiar.

"Thanks, by the way," Louis says, a few steps behind Liam.

"Thanks?" Liam asks, looking over his shoulder.

"Yeah," Louis says, rolling his shoulders in another half-hearted shrug. "Thanks for – thanks for kissing me first."

Liam stops dead in his tracks, watches as Louis walks up and stops right beside him. Louis shies away from looking at Liam, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

There's a whole world of things Liam could say in response. He could feel embarrassed, foolish for not having done it sooner. He could be smug, seeing the effect he has on Louis. He could blush until it hurts and think about what else he has been missing the last few months. He could say _you're welcome_ and wonder if something like that kiss will ever happen again now that they've said it out loud, making the ghosts between them real.

"Are you getting soft on me?" Liam asks, biting his tongue between his teeth.

"Oh, fuck you," Louis says, grabbing Liam into a chokehold, arm around his neck, and he drags him laughing into the living room.

*

They don't write a thing that night, but Liam doesn't really care.

It's not like they don't try, they just don't try very hard. After playing a few half-hearted chords on Louis' baby grand piano, attempting to recreate the half-written song they left on a tour bus in Spain, Louis decides that that's enough work for tonight ("ten minutes work, time for a break!") and it's not long before they both say _fuck it_ and grab some beers from his fridge and flop down on the couch. 

It doesn't matter at all, because being here is enough. With Louis it always feels like the songs are already there in the back of Liam's head, little bits and pieces that play over and over like an earworm. It's as if there's a whole album, a whole catalogue of songs just living in the spaces between them, and all they have to do is sit side by side in order to hear them, pulling them out of the air like ripe fruit.

Even when they sit in silence together in front of Louis' laptop, watching YouTube clips of tigers nursing abandoned puppies (Liam's idea, from his mum's forwarded e-mails), there's always noise, there's always music playing in the corners of Liam's life now that he's _here_.

It's a lot like living in a fucking musical, a London South Side Story. No one bursts out into song to express their feelings, but sometimes Liam will catch Louis humming the hook of one of their finished songs, or they'll both slap their hands against their thighs to make a beat, or Liam will do a quick boots-and-cats beatboxing noise that makes Louis laugh and try to join in.

The music is just there, it's always _right there_ , hidden behind every single thing they do. Every kiss Louis presses to Liam's shoulder is like the plucked string of a guitar, every sleepy mumble of pleasure Louis gives as he rests against Liam's side like a chorus fading out. It gets into Liam's bloodstream, it keeps him awake in a good way, and even the rat-a-tat of gunfire of the late night Bruce Willis action film they watch sounds like the rapid beat of a drum. 

It surrounds them no matter what they do.

"I'm thinking of giving that last song we finished to Harry," Louis says, eating a dinner of olives straight out of the jar. It's the only food he had left in the fridge, everything else thrown out before they went on tour. "The _Diana_ one. What do you think?"

"It's probably time," Liam says. He makes it sound easy, but he feels his guts tighten up with sudden nerves.

"I know," Louis says, not even looking at Liam but somehow picking up on his feeling all the same. "I'm fucking terrified."

"It's weird, it's like – once we put the songs out there, they're _out there_ ," Liam says. "Can't take that back. Once someone else hears it, they'll, like – they'll hear us, actually hear who we are. You know what I mean?"

"It's _Harry_ ," Louis says. "He's going to love it." A pause, Louis' smile collapsing a bit. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"We'll have to do it sometime," Liam says quietly. "It's just – a lot easier to think we were writing for fun. Not like it's our – future."

"You think the songs aren't good enough?" Louis asks. 

"No, I just –" Liam hesitates. "I just – I don't know if I'm ready. I don't want to let you down –"

Louis gives a sharp laugh. "Let _me_ down?"

Liam sits up straighter, nodding quickly. Louis seems surprised by that, his mouth open slightly, touching a finger to his lips like he maybe regrets that laugh. "I know it's just a stupid fucking pop song, it's not _important_ or anything, but what if – what if I suck? What if I can't, like, give you the future you wanna have in this business?" Liam says, feeling it all rush out at once.

Louis sucks in his bottom lip and worries it between his teeth, shaking his head slowly while he does. "Is that how I make you feel, man? Like you're crap?"

"No, it's not you at all, it's just – I don't want to let you down," Liam says stiffly. "I know you want this so bad, but what if I'm not good enough, dragging you down –" 

"Dude," Louis says, sliding down against the sofa's cushions and wriggling over to Liam so he can rest his head against his shoulder. "We're not crap. We're so far from crap," Louis says. "If anyone's gonna drag us down, it's me."

"But you're so good," Liam says, so sure of it, so sure of the music Louis brings into his life that he can't imagine making anything without him.

"And that's how I feel about you, yeah?" Louis says. "And I believe it when you say it. Do you believe me?" 

Confidence has been something Liam has been patiently working on all of his life. He always envied those kids in school who always seemed to have it, who could do the stupidest and most embarrassing things in front of everyone and walk out of it with the same smug smile they had on before. Even after all their success, even after finally being rewarded for the years of struggle he put in, Liam still feels like he somehow missed a few steps, got thrown into a world of sell-out crowds and millions of pounds without ever really earning it.

Harry has confidence, Niall has confidence, even Zayn has built his up steadily for years to become the rock God he is now. Even Louis has his own enormous confidence in that us-against-the-world way he has, but the best Liam could ever do was trying to believe what everyone was saying, forcing himself to accept as true all the things being said about his talent and hard-work and creativity. 

Sometimes it will all be right there for Liam, this arsenal of self-confidence and feeling like he could do anything if he put his mind to it. It's just that, on nights like these without a crew or audience or team to back him up, nights where he's just left being himself, the doubt comes back to Liam like a bad dream he thought he gave up at school.

"Do you really think we can do it?" Liam asks.

Louis snuggles closer against Liam's side, his shirt smelling stale from being packed too long, his hair soft and silky where it brushes against Liam's arm. Even though Liam is fucked up about a lot of things – about how good a songwriter, band-member, musician, person he is – there's always Louis' sleepy smirk and absolute trust.

Liam might not be able to be confident about everything all the time, but just knowing how much Louis trusts in him is almost enough to see him through. Terrifying, huge, overwhelming sometimes, but enough.

"I know it, man," Louis says, eyes closed, nuzzling his nose against Liam's arm. "And honestly, if I can't do this with you, then I don't want to do it at all."

Those words settle into the place in Liam's heart where bravery should go. Liam has learned to be a lot of things since Louis came into his life, how to enjoy a good night and how to seize the day and how to explode in the best way, but it's the bravery that sticks out for Liam. 

Liam remembers one of the first nights they spent together, in Harry's bungalow, with the strange noises and the mysterious cow at night time and the immediate way Liam felt the need to run outside to go see what was going on. He remembers the joking way Louis rolled his eyes and called him _brave_ then, brave meaning stupid, brave meaning he was somehow unlike everyone else. Brave meaning different.

For most of Liam's life, bravery always meant the same thing for him – a firefighter running into a burning building, or his dad going downstairs with a cricket bat when there was a noise in the night – but Liam knows it's Louis who taught him (slowly, jokingly, fondly, teasing Liam until he slowly learned how to fight back) the bravery of actually being himself.

"Let's show it to Harry, then," Liam says. "All the boys, maybe. They've been bugging us about it for weeks."

"All right," Louis says quietly. "Let's think it over and if we still wanna do it we'll send it in a few days, cool?"

"Cool," Liam says. He can't help doing it, he can't help leaning down because Louis is so close, all snuggled up against his side, and he can't help kissing the top of Louis' head. Liam knows he has a lot of things to thank Louis for, but at the risk of hearing Louis telling him not to get all soft on him again, Liam does it by resting his lips on the top of Louis' head and staying there.

Louis doesn't seem to think kisses are soft, because when he moves it's to look up at Liam and catch his mouth before Liam pulls away. It's just a brush of his lips, the tips of their noses touching, before Louis settles back down to watch Bruce Willis kick some more arse, but it's enough for Liam to inspire a whole new song.

*

Two a.m. doesn't come quietly, it screams in Liam's head like an ambulance siren. He's sleepy, he's comfortable, and he hates looking at those stark green numbers on Louis' DVD player, the blinking 2:03 reminding him that it's late and that this isn't his home.

"Louis?" Liam says, shaking Louis' shoulder. "You awake?"

"I am now," Louis grumbles, looking up from where he's been resting his head on Liam's thighs.

"I guess I should go home, huh?" Liam says, trying hard not to seem like he's asking for something else.

Louis stretches like a cat, arms out and mouth open, snapping his teeth shut as he comes back down. Sitting up from Liam's lap, Louis frowns. "Go home?"

Liam shrugs. "I mean, it's getting late –" Liam tries hard not to make it sound like he's asking for an out, it's just that after a few days apart, Liam can't stand the thought of getting in his car and driving away, hates the very idea of willingly putting distance between them. 

"Just stay," Louis says, rolling his head around his neck, bones cracking as he does. "Don't be an idiot. I can't believe you're making me say this, fuckhead."

Liam kind of knew that this is how it would all turn out, but he just likes hearing Louis say it. "I'm just being polite," he says. It was meant to be a joke but it comes out too fast and sincere for a laugh.

"Fucking honestly," Louis says. "How long have you known me yet? You need to fucking ask? Christ, have I taught you nothing?" Louis pauses, really looks at Liam when he says it. "You really think I want you to leave?"

Liam tries to let it sink in because he wants so badly to believe Louis. He's so good that way, with his games and ignorance of danger, Louis always giving Liam an opportunity to ignore his fears and just fight the world and bite off a big piece for himself. That's all Liam wants to do right now, to believe.

"Louis?"

"Yeah?" Louis says, raising an eyebrow.

"Did you – uh – did you write anything? When we were gone, like?" Liam feels so dumb for asking it, but he really needs to know.

Holding his frown for a second, Louis licks his lips slowly. "On my own, you mean?"

"Yeah," Liam says, and he can't believe it but he's actually holding his breath.

"I tried," Louis says thoughtfully, looking up at the ceiling like he's trying to remember if he did or not. It doesn't take long for him to smile though, ruefully and knowing. "It didn't really work on my own, though. Kind of a disaster."

Hearing that doesn't loosen the tightness in Liam's chest, but it does change it. What started like a lonely fist around his heart – that same feeling he got when the band was first put together and Liam wanted so badly to _belong_ – has turned into a strangled kind of laugh, like shiny soap bubbles in his lungs and a flipping, fleeting jump in his chest.

"Same with me," Liam whispers.

"It was all shit," Louis says, running a hand back through Liam's hair and giving it a good rub, messing it all up. "I can't do it without you."

Louis gets up off the couch and stretches towards the ceiling again. There's that gap of skin between the hem of his shirt and his track bottoms again, but this time Liam doesn't just watch the way his body moves. No, this time Liam reaches forward and tentatively places his hands on Louis' naked skin, thumbs pressing against the divots of his hipbones, fingers just testing the lip of his track bottoms. 

It's late and Liam is tired. He's worn out and half-way lonely and filled with apprehension about the new songs. He's scared and he's eager and he's lost. There are a lot of things going on and Liam could say he doesn't really know what he's doing, but that would be a lie. 

Liam could blame it on all the talk of bravery, borrowed or stolen, and the shared secret that they're both terrified of putting their songs into the world. Or, he could blame the warm night and the whirr of tyres on the road outside, and the smell of the muddy Thames and petrol coming in through the empty window, and how that's a kind of magic. Or Liam could blame how the only light in the room is coming silver and cold from the television, and it makes Louis look so fucking beautiful and all he wants to do is _stay_.

Easiest, though, would be to blame Louis. 

"Come here," Liam whispers.

"You still asking?" Louis says, lifting his chin as he looks down at Liam smugly.

"Just being polite," Liam replies.

The thrill of the night fills Liam up, makes him feel dreamy and close and confident all at once. It's all the same feeling: rushing out of his house in the middle of the night in his pyjamas, coming face to face with the crazy idea of making a few songs into a career, and realising that he's really falling in love with a boy for the first time in his life. 

Gently tugging him forward, Louis' knees sink into the cushions on either side of Liam's hips as he slides down into his lap. Louis puts his arms around Liam's neck, the soft cotton of their track bottoms rubbing together as he rolls his hips against Liam's own. 

They don't kiss, not yet. Liam knows that comes later, after they've properly held each other, once they lock together like puzzle pieces. 

Liam doesn't even feel anxious about it. He isn't obsessing over what it might mean or who should give in first, he just wants to live in this moment. It's almost as if there was a kind of inevitability to Louis' love, like this day was predetermined from the moment they met, from the second that Liam fatally decided that he kind of hated Louis.

Louis seems to like being taller than Liam and he looks down on him with his head tilted to one side, examining Liam in the pale light of the television. Liam leans up, trying to bridge the gap, but stops short of actually touching Louis' lips. Their mouths hover close together, noses just brushing as they try to find that one spark, that one click of a lighter that will burn them up in flames.

As they pull together like gravity, deep in shadow, their faces come so close together that they block out any light. From this angle Liam can see the palest pepper of freckles on Louis' cheeks, and just the softest wrinkles by the corners of his eyes, and the tiny rim of gold that rings his dilated pupils. When Louis breathes out Liam can feel it hot and dry on his lips, and when Liam licks them he can almost taste the weight of the moment.

This almost kiss, this half-something is just like the way they share a blanket: teasing and testing and seeing how much he can get away with, seeing just how far they can go before collapsing. It's a game that plays out slowly, Louis leaning forward but pulling back before Liam gets a chance to catch his lips, Liam brushing the tips of their noses together without actually going in for the kill. 

All of the teasing makes the crash so much better, because they do it together. Both of them go in for another teasing push, but find that there isn't as much room between them as they thought, their lips catching and mouths opening and hands going tight around each other as they finally give in and take each other.

And when they kiss, it's like planets colliding.

It's a messy, fumbling, boyish kiss, the kind of kisses Liam remembers having when he was a teenager and didn't know what he was doing. Never in his whole life has Liam known anyone quite like Louis, never has Liam ever known a friendship like this or a boy so annoying and wonderful, and _of course_ it makes sense that falling in love with Louis would be entirely new as well.

Noses crushed together, Liam still aches to get closer to Louis, the kiss deepening every second as they grip onto each other, so tight it almost hurts. 

Louis' tongue is warm and wet, and Liam can feel as it slides against the sharp edges of his canines, tasting the shape of Liam's mouth quickly before going in for more. He bites down on Liam's bottom lip, rolls it between his teeth until Liam gasps. 

Putting his hands on Louis' hips again, Liam helps him push forward. They work together, bodies rolling against each other until they find the right rhythm. Louis' hands are in Liam's hair, fingers threaded into the short scruff at the back of his neck, taking a hold of him and reminding Liam with every tug where he belongs.

The smell of soap and sweat is all over Louis and it's beautiful, just like the last sweetness of a cup of tea that lingers in Liam's mouth. It's the way Louis smells late at night when they're on tour, worn out and vulnerable with exhaustion, the adrenaline from a concert dried to salt on his skin. Liam can taste it all over Louis' throat, kissing and sucking at his pulse point until it's red and hot. 

When Louis bites Liam's earlobe – not so hard, just a pinch of teeth that makes cold shivers run down the back of Liam's neck – his mouth is wet, and Liam can hear him laughing even as the touch sends sparks scattering down the back of Liam's neck.

"You're insecure," Louis whispers before biting the shell of Liam's ear, "don't know what for," he sing-speaks the lines, but it's filled with the music of his hidden laughter, "you're turning heads when you walk through the do-oo-oor."

Laughing, Liam finally pulls away. In the distance between them, the light falls on their faces again, making Louis' grin almost glow. 

"Oh, God," Liam says, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. "You're such a dickhead."

"Do you really think you're dragging me down?" Louis asks, still so happy to be sitting tall on Liam's lap. Curling one finger, he tips it under Liam's chin to lift his gaze. "Seriously, man?"

"No," Liam breathes out, and he's not sure if he believes that or if he's just going with what Louis says. Without thinking he runs his hands up and down Louis' sides, feeling the slats of his ribs and his hard sides and just the touch of softness where the lip of his track bottoms cut in around his hips. It feels so good to touch him over and over, to be fully aware of every second that he has Louis with him. "I don't know. Maybe."

"If it wasn't me asking," Louis says, putting a hand flat in the middle of Liam's chest and holding it there, like he's keeping them at a safe distance. "If you looked at the stuff you wrote like a stranger, would you say you were shit?"

Liam takes a moment to think, swallowing hard and counting his breaths. It's funny how – now that he's closer to Louis than he's ever been before – there's no room for Liam to hide behind Louis' games, or reassurance. Or mouth. 

There's only bravery left.

"Sometimes – yeah, sometimes," Liam admits, falling back against the couch cushions and taking a few long, deep breaths. He puts his hands on the tops of Louis' thighs and rubs them slowly, like he's trying to warm Louis up. "But, like, we've made some beautiful fucking songs, Lou. Some really excellent stuff."

"Sorry we didn't write tonight," Louis says, and his smile is enough to let Liam know that he liked that answer. 

Liam shakes his head firmly. "Doesn't matter. This was – this is exactly what I want to write music about anyway," Liam says, gesturing vaguely to the messy room and the cool air blowing through the windows and the empty cans of lager and the tempting sleepiness behind his eyes and the boy sitting on his lap. "It's the kind of memory I want to be able to sing about for years."

"Yeah," Louis says, a bit dreamily. He smiles down at Liam for a few seconds, a moment of sincerity that stretches a bit too long until it bursts. "You're a fucking poet, man," Louis says, all of his laughter coming back as well.

Liam runs a hand over Louis' cheek and ignores the sarcasm, even as it makes him smile. "Can you imagine getting to do this for the rest of our lives? Just like this? Making stuff – writing things together, for years and years and years?"

Watching Louis' smirk fade away has never felt so good. Liam can actually see the happy shiver run through Louis' body as he thinks about what Liam has said, sarcasm melting into an awed little smile as his shoulders go loose and his hands soft and careful where they rest on Liam's stomach. 

"You're a fucking asshole," Louis whispers, leaning down to bridge the gap between them again. "You're such a fuckwit."

"So, can I stay?" Liam asks, just to hear Louis' answer.

"Fuck you. Of course you can."

When they kiss again, Liam can actually feel the careful, hopeful smile on Louis' lips.

*

It's hard for Liam to get used to a slow morning. He's so wired to the usual panic of being on tour – frantically leaping out of bed fifteen minutes late for a radio interview or the groggy slamming of a 4:00 a.m. alarm – that it takes a while for him to realise that the rising sun is something he can savour.

It's the first night Liam has woken up in Louis' bed, and Liam isn't even sure where he is for a second. It takes a few slow blinks, a jaw-cracking yawn before Liam starts to realise that he's not dreaming anymore (slow and comfortable dreams about Louis, about a dog he one day might own, about fingernails tapping on piano keys) and that his eyes are already open and the sunlight that's filtering yellow through the curtains is real. 

It's real. That's the hardest thing for Liam to remember. It's real, and his arm is tingling because it's trapped under Louis' body, and his feet are cold because they're pressed against Louis' at the end of the bed. That this is actually happening, that he broke the cycle of doubt: it happened again, and it _will_ happen again.

Half-awake, Liam watches as the world gets coloured in between the lines: the red heat from where Louis is curled against his side, the hair on Louis' arms made gold in the sunlight, the white cotton of the bed linens like clouds, the messy brown nest of Louis' hair where he sleeps with his cheeks pressed against Liam's bicep. 

It's all there, right where he left it. Liam can't remember the last time a morning made him smile like this.

Liam's arm is curled around Louis' back, hand just resting at the shallow dimples right above the elastic hemline of his briefs. Liam wonders if he should touch Louis, let his fingertips glide against his skin and maybe duck under the waistband to feel the smooth curve of his arse. He probably could, he definitely wants to, but something in him wants to wait until Louis is awake. To look at his face while it happens.

Waiting is good. Liam doesn't mind waiting a few hours after three and a half years. He settles in deeper, snuggling against Louis' side so their bodies are flush together, skin sticky against skin. 

It's only when Liam feels a tickle against his stomach that he realises Louis _is_ awake. 

It would have been impossible to tell otherwise. Louis didn't groan or grumble, and his eyelashes didn't flutter open like they do when Liam shakes him from a nap. There's not even a friendly insult offered up to make Liam sting, and Liam wonders just how long Louis has been awake. 

Was he awake long enough to see Liam smile as he turned to look out the window? Did he keep his eyes closed just to see what Liam would do? Or was he waiting, like Liam, until they were both awake to share the golden wealth of the morning, the El Dorado pouring in through the curtains?

Whatever it was, it's so like Louis to do this. How many times has Liam felt he was alone, only to realise that Louis was there the whole time, two steps ahead and already laughing? 

Very carefully, Louis' fingers continue to loosely scratch against the thread of hair that leads down from Liam's navel and under the waistband of his briefs. His hand stays in that dividing line, between Liam's stomach and the elastic of his pants, only moving enough to claim the place as his own. Tickling, even, though Liam doesn't laugh.

Liam fights against the impulse to wish Louis a friendly _good morning_ , knowing how much Louis hates cheerfulness so early in the day. He really wants to do it, but the air feels so different this morning, charged up like the gaps between their bodies are superheated and volatile and, even without being told, Liam knows that he shouldn't say anything at all. 

Instead of speaking, Liam just gives into the feeling of Louis' hand as it roams up and under his t-shirt, fingers crackling against the short hair in the middle of Liam's chest. He feels the blood rush through his body, too warm, and tries to feel where each one of Louis' fingers is touching him now.

Turning his head on the pillow, Liam looks down at Louis and watches the way his indistinct smile grows stronger even though his eyes stay shut. Louis might not be looking at Liam, but he does eventually lean up expectantly to offer his mouth for a kiss. 

When Liam leans down to meet Louis halfway, he lets the silence finally break with their kiss. The first noise of the morning – ignoring the wood doves and the grunting of London traffic – is the sound Louis makes as he's kissed, this soft hiss of contentment, this sweet little murmur of pleasure that he tries to keep hidden.

Once the first noise is made, the rest come tumbling after. Liam dances his fingertips against the bottom of Louis' spine (fleetingly testing the borders of his briefs), and in response Louis gives a happy groan and arches his back, pressing his bare chest and stomach against Liam's body. 

Everything Liam does just seems to embolden Louis, every touch making him more confident. Something as simple as Liam touching a hand to Louis' naked back seems to make Louis more daring, hungrier, lovelier. 

Louis uses more than just his fingertips as he touches Liam's body; he slips his hand over Liam's flat stomach, and then lower to his black briefs. That imaginary boundary, the border between skin and cotton, seems to matter less and less to Louis each time his hand comes close, daring to nudge the edge lower with every pass.

There's so much Liam wants to do, to say, but he's too caught up in what Louis is doing. All Liam can do is nod, nod gently against Louis' cheek as their mouths brushing together without connecting, nod because he wants more.

Liam can feel Louis' deep exhalation in a warm spot on his shoulder. He can feel the tension turn into mischief, just in the way Louis shifts beside him. Even though Liam knows what's going to happen next, he could never anticipate how it would feel when Louis slides his hand under the elastic of his briefs and wrap his fingers around Liam's half-hard cock. 

Liam forgets to breathe. His hand freezes where it was playing against the small of Louis' back, and he doesn't dare move an inch. It's only when Louis grumbles and nudges him in the thigh with the sharp edge of his knee that Liam falls back into himself, letting loose a shaky breath and flattening his palm over the round of Louis' arse and gripping him tight as Louis starts to work him over.

It's not quite morning and it's not quite a dream. They've found some in-between place just for themselves, that gap between being awake and getting out of bed that they never have a chance to explore on tour. It's hidden, the way Louis' bedroom is hidden, a secret land off the edge of the map that Liam wants to live in.

Liam doesn't moan, not even when Louis gets him totally hard, not even when Louis pulls the elastic band over Liam's cock and he can feel the cold air against sensitive skin before Louis wraps his fingers around it again.

He only breaks when Louis starts kissing him again.

To stop from letting out any pitiful noise, Liam leans down to find Louis' mouth and the kiss that's waiting for him. Even as Louis starts to jerk Liam's cock faster, his kiss is as slow as poured honey. The difference between Louis' hand and his lips is startling, almost making Liam dizzy as he's pulled between the weight of romance on his mouth and the sparking, bucking fistful of sex around his cock.

Louis only opens his eyes (sleepy, knowing, expectant) when Liam breaks the silence with another whimper. He pulls away from Liam's mouth long enough to give him the once-over, eyes glancing across his face curiously like Louis is admiring how easily he can ruin Liam. Or admiring something else that Liam couldn't even begin to imagine.

The moment of hesitation only lasts long enough for Louis to smirk before he leans forward again to trap Liam's parted lips between his teeth, drawing them both into the bonfire burn of a kiss. 

What pushes Liam over the edge is just magic. It's not Louis' fist (gripped so good and hard around his cock, with his palm sliding cleanly against skin, making all the nerves in Liam's body crackle with electricity, _fuck_ ) that makes Liam feel like he's about to come; it's Louis' mouth. 

The slow, sleepiness of the kiss is something Liam hasn't felt in ages, so relaxed and obvious that Liam doesn't even feel surprised. How long has he wanted this from Louis? There's no point in trying to guess, because from the moment they first met, Liam always wanted a little more from Louis each day. 

And Louis doesn't stop kissing him, not even when Liam groans, not even when he tries to mumble something about _I'm going to –_

Liam comes with a sorry little grunt that he presses up against Louis' mouth. He can feel the way all his muscles pulse and release, a star in his stomach that suddenly breaks apart as Liam comes over Louis' knuckles, splashing wet and warm on his stomach and chest. 

That perfect fucking feeling of release explodes through Liam's body, but it's nothing compared to the feeling of kissing Louis, of _still_ kissing Louis through the whole thing, neither of them stopping even as Liam is wrung out and spent. Louis' hand moves slower and slower around Liam's cock until he stops, but his mouth is still wanting, taking, giving against Liam's own. 

The afterglow is like waking up again. Liam still feels like he's caught in some cob-webby dream as he lifts his arms so Louis can pull his shirt off. It could so easily be a fantasy, knowing how many times Liam has dreamt of something just like this. Not just the sex, but being wanted so fiercely that it makes his chest tighten up happily. When Liam sinks back into the pillows, he can almost believe that he made this up.

Silence is a strange thing to get used to after all the music they've made. It's like it gives them an excuse to pretend this never happened, something dreamy and far away that they might have imagined, notes they won't get a chance to write on a page. 

Liam isn't sure what to say or what to do, and he wonders if Louis will want to remember this or not. He can't imagine ever putting this in a song, but there's a part of Liam that really, really wants this to be a part of who they are now.

A feeling like drifting flows through Liam, almost as if he's watching from a distance as Louis cleans them both up with his wrinkled t-shirt, tossing it away when he's done. It's only when Louis falls back against Liam's side and gives him another lazy kiss and a soft little "morning, dickhead" that everything makes sense again. It's enough to make Liam grin, just the simple music of Louis' voice making everything shocking real.

"Your breath stinks," Liam says, his cheeks aching from the smile.

"Fuck off," Louis says, rolling away from Liam's arm and swinging his legs off the side of the bed. "I've just decided that you're making breakfast. Yeah, you definitely are."

"You don't have any food in the fridge," Liam says, splaying out his arms and legs as he happily takes over the whole bed. "What am I supposed to make?"

Louis shrugs and looks back at Liam over his shoulder. "That's your problem now, Payno."

It's okay that they don't really mention it. Liam doesn't need to say it out loud, and he doesn't need Louis to say it either, because it's already there. Liam can hear when Louis talks, in the rough fondness and endless teasing. Liam can hear it in his own voice as well, when he chuckles aloud as he watches Louis undress before he steps into the bathroom. 

Even if they don't say it out loud, this morning has marked them, like every day they spend together. It changes the way they sound when they talk, when they swear, when they make each other laugh, and, later, when they close their eyes and sing.

*

There have been a few times Liam has thought (always abstractly, never in enough detail to make him feel guilty) about what having sex with Louis might be like. Ever since he first thought about it – fuck, it must have been a year ago, maybe more – the idea has hovered in the back of his mind, making up little stories before he goes to bed at night: _what would happen if we just kept kissing? what would happen after? how would we act the next morning?_

It's something Liam tries not to think about too often, but it still happens more than it ought to. His dick will get hard while he tries to sleep in his bunk on the tour bus, biting the knuckles of his hand to stop from jerking off. Even now with the proof of it on his body, with the chlorine smell of come and the seawater of Louis' sweat on his skin, Liam blushes as he stands at the kitchen counter and butters a few toasted slices of white bread he found in Louis' freezer.

"I knew you'd figure it out," Louis says, walking down the hall from the bedroom in red check pyjama bottoms. His hair is damp from the shower, just curling at the tips. Liam glances over his shoulder long enough to see the lean line of Louis' body, the ink on his skin, the very slight softness of his belly that stays no matter how long he trains for football.

"Could you make a cuppa?" Liam asks, turning his attention back to the toast.

"Sure," Louis says, his hand skimming against Liam's naked back as he goes searching through the cabinets for teabags.

The fucked up thing is this is exactly how Liam felt after that first night Louis properly kissed him all those months ago. It was a one-time thing back then, he thought. Just the way the night went, that feeling in the air that maybe pushed Louis to kiss Liam a bit longer than he usually did.

And like that time, Liam can't help but feel like every great thing is the last of something, never believing that something good could ever happen twice. And even after it happened again, Liam never knew if it could happen a third time

This feeling comes to Liam so often it's almost inevitable, a pattern that doesn't know how to break. He remembers so vividly the feeling of performing on stage the first time and coming off thinking that surely he'll never do something like this again. Or when he got through the first round of X-Factor and knew, absolutely _knew_ that he'd be going home next week. Or the moment where he first saw his full name next to a song on liner notes and thought that it might be the only song he'd ever write. 

Or being kissed by Louis. Or being thanked, very quietly, for having the courage to do it first.

"Four fucking sugars?" Louis asks, throwing a teabag into a Union Jack mug, the same mug Liam uses every time he stays over here.

Putting his butter knife down, Liam walks over to where Louis lighting the gas hob, setting the full kettle over the purple-blue flames. He can smell the sex on Louis, not the same smell Liam has on his skin but something boyish and sweet and sharp that makes Liam's insides clench tight. 

All Liam knows is that he wants him, he wants Louis like he always wants another kiss, wants him like he wants another song and another album and another year around the world with his best friends.

Liam hesitates for a second, but finally gives in and puts his hands on Louis' hips. Louis doesn't startle at the touch, but he does laugh a little, a laugh that stops short when Liam slides his hands down the back of Louis' pyjama bottoms and over the round of his ass. 

"Yeah," Liam whispers against Louis' neck. "Four fucking sugars."

"Awful," Louis mutters as he scoops four heaping teaspoons of sugar into the mug, tilting his head to one side as if he's inviting a kiss. "Man, you don't waste time, do you?"

"You thanked me for kissing you first," Liam says, pressing his mouth against the curve of Louis' neck. His hands skim over Louis' ass and over to his thighs, wrists catching on the elastic of the pyjama bottoms and tugging them down a bit lower. "I'm not going to wait around anymore. Is that – okay?"

"I've created a monster," Louis says, leaning back against Liam's body, smaller now that he's half-naked and pressed in against the hard wall of Liam's chest. "You wouldn't even hug me that first day we met. You remember that?"

Liam laughs. "All those months I wanted to punch you."

"Well," Louis says, a little hum of self-satisfaction, "I can be like that at first."

"At first?" Liam asks, giving in and pinching the side of Louis' thigh, just a little bit. 

" _Hey_ ," Louis shouts, twisting and spinning away from Liam so they're staring each other down face to face. Louis pushes Liam's hands away but he's grinning as he leans back against the edge of the kitchen counter, stabbing his index finger in the middle of Liam's sternum to keep him at bay. "You're pretty punchable yourself, dude. You've got a face made for punching. That _nose_ , mate."

"Why didn't you ever go for it, then?" Liam asks, reaching up to grab Louis' hand, not to push him away but just to hold the fingers that are jabbing the middle of his bare chest. 

Louis hesitates for a second. He runs his tongue over his teeth with a wolfish grin, like he's coming up with something really poisonous to say, but his smile softens at the last second. "'Cause I always thought there were better things to do to your mouth."

"Always?" Liam can't help but ask, a question too soft and fragile for the sharp blades of Louis' banter. "You, uh, always thought that?"

Louis gives a tight little nod, and Liam can feel his fingers go slack where they're pressing against the skin and bone of his sternum. "Yeah," Louis breathes out softly, a dramatic fluttering of eyelashes as he looks at the kitchen floor. "I think – I think I've always wanted to punch you in the face. Since the day we met, babe."

"Oh, you complete and total fucking bell-end –" Liam says, grappling at Louis again with a laugh. "God, I've wanted you for so long – not just to punch you in the face, just – I wanted you in like a hundred different ways since I've known you, maybe just to be your friend at first, but –"

Louis silences him by grabbing both of Liam's hands around the wrist. It's not a tight grip, Liam could break out of it easily, but he doesn't even try. 

"Wanted me?" Louis asks, and the shape of the word is so different than anything that came before.

"Sure," Liam says, a little surprised. "At first I wanted to hate you," he says with a laugh, stopping only when he sees that Louis doesn't join him. "And then, like, I wanted to be your friend so bad it hurt, then I wanted to be – like, the person you trusted or something, I don't know. Then I wanted, uh. Then I guess I just wanted _you_."

"Oh. Oh, fuck," Louis says, managing to flash an embarrassed smile as he says it, and then gritting his teeth together as he maybe realises how stupid he looks. Louis wets his lips with his tongue, but he can't seem to say anything else. "Yeah," Louis says, nodding slowly, looking at Liam and then at the distance held between them with clasped hands. "I – get it. I feel, like. Yeah, I get you." Louis turns his head to look Liam face-on. "You – know what I mean?"

"Not at all," Liam says with a laugh that makes Louis smile.

"Fuck," Louis says, looking at the ceiling, the floor, back to Liam. "You just – you don't need to want me. I'm yours, okay?" Louis pauses, looking troubled about something, maybe putting too much of himself out there. "I'm yours. Or, uh, something."

"Or something," Liam repeats, softer this time.

"Or something," Louis says, giving a firm nod to make it true. "I'm yours or something."

Liam doesn't take the chance of messing this up by speaking, so he just takes the few steps and hugs Louis. 

Both of them are only half-dressed, naked chest to naked chest, and Liam can feel the heat radiating from Louis' body. His skin is so soft, different than the sort of places Liam has punched or prodded or used as a hard-boned pillow. It's like Louis' whole body transforms when it's being held the way he is now, becoming smaller and gentler and needier. 

The smell of the shower is on him, clean and bright where Liam presses his face against the crook of Louis' neck. He's small enough that Liam can get his arms all the way around him, fingers notched into the divots of his ribs while Louis gets his arms around Liam's shoulders.

"All right, all right," Louis says as the kettle starts to whistle on the hob and he pulls away from Liam, "no funny business, keep your hands to yourself. We've got music to make. Got it?"

"Got it," Liam says. "Absolutely got it."

It would be easy to dread making music after the dry spell Liam has had since the holiday started, but Liam doesn't feel anything like the paralysing panic he did back home. Just being with Louis and knowing that this great thing, this amazing morning, might happen again (and again, and again, and again) is enough to make everything just fine.

It sustains Liam, it colours everything like a dominant major chord played in the echoing chamber of his chest. It could be caused by anything, a sudden inspiration or a change of pattern or a new perspective, but Liam knows that this time it's because of Louis.

When they sit down together for a breakfast of tea and toast, they end up breaking their _no funny business _rule more than a few times. There are punches in the shoulder, and sneaky bitten kisses against the corners of their mouths. Louis pats Liam on the arse as he walks by, and Liam reaches across the table to just brush his hand against Louis', sticky with marmalade.__

__Each time they touch, that glowing, humming _rightness_ chimes inside Liam, and it makes the morning sing in perfect harmony._ _

____

*

It's easy to say that music gathers in Liam's body when he's near Louis, it's easy to feel it like a laugh kept tight in his chest, but putting it down on paper is so much harder than Liam ever expected.

The lines and lyrics Liam hears in his head come out stumbling and broken when he tries to turn them into music on the baby grand piano Louis has in his lounge. It's so simple to kiss Louis and feel _right_ , but that rightness turns to hammered arpeggios and listless, hanging half-melodies that don't go anywhere, nothing ever sounding as grand as Liam feels.

By one in the afternoon, the frustration is starting to prickle at Liam, making his fingers tingle like a trapped nerve. To have all this _feeling_ inside of him but nowhere to put it, no talent for making it real, is a feeling a lot like hopelessness. 

Liam wants to sing about the way he can feel Louis' smile when they kiss, or all the sights they've snuck out to see when they shouldn't have, or the late nights and early mornings. Fuck, he just wants to sing about any of the hundreds of things they've done that make up the shining constellation of the last three years, but he just can't seem to translate them into something he might be proud of.

"This isn't working," Louis says, lining up his third Red Bull on the lid of the piano. "It sounds like something Elton John would write by smashing his head on the piano at random."

"I know," Liam groans, slumped forward on the piano stool and looking down at the long row of shining white and black teeth begging to eat him up. "Hold me closer," Liam says, smashing his head down in the middle of the keyboard, banging out a loud, dissonant chord, "tiny dickhead."

Louis laughs, lying back on the carpet beside the piano. His arms and legs are flung wide like he's doing a star jump or making a snow angel on the ground. "We need to, like, write shit we've actually done. Things we know about. We don't need to be Radiohead or whatever, we just need to be ourselves."

"I'm trying to do that," Liam says. "Turns out we suck."

"No we don't," Louis says, turning his head to look at Liam, levelling him a fierce stare. "Okay. Basics. Let's go back to page one. This tour. Tell me what we've done."

"That's what I've been trying to do," Liam says, trying to wipe away the fingerprints on the shiny black lid of the piano with the hem of his shirt. "I wanna write about all the stuff we've done, I really do. It's just not working, I don't know how to make it – like, sound as good as it does in my head."

"Well, what sticks out for you?" Louis asks. "What do you want to write about? Be specific, man. Be really specific. It won't work if we get too complicated. Give me _one_ thing."

"I don't know –" Liam says quietly. There are a hundred ideas running around his head, but he knows they're just meteors, shiny comets that orbit around the one amazing, secret thing he wishes he could turn into something real. He knows he couldn't write about Louis, about what he really feels right now, but he can't think of anything else. "I dunno, Lou."

"Really think about it," Louis encourages, still lying on the carpet and staring up at the ceiling like they're in a field somewhere looking at a starry night. "Out of everything over the last year, say, what was the most important thing you've found?"

There's a whole instrument sitting in front of Liam, eighty-eight keys of noise, but he can't make a sound. He can remember the way seven-hour long layovers became fun once Louis came up with a new game; he can remember the exact dinner he ate lying in a French hotel bed when the five of them ordered in room service together; he can remember being exhausted after fucking up a solo during in Holland and how, after the show, no one ever let him think he failed. 

He can think of all sorts of things, but they all come back to that one common theme.

"You," Liam says, plainly. He doesn't want it to sound dramatic or, worse, romantic, he just wants it to be the truth. All those moments stick out for one reason: because he did them with Louis. "It'd be you, I reckon."

Louis doesn't say anything. When Liam looks over his shoulder, he can see Louis splayed out like a starfish on the carpet, his hands running slowly across the plush shag under his palms, his smile bitten between teeth. 

"Yeah, all right," Louis says. "Let's write about that."

"Of course," Liam says with a laugh. "Of course you want me to write a song about you."

"Us," Louis says instead, turning his head to look over at Liam like he's making sure he sees his face as he says it. "So, what do we do when we tour? You and me?"

"Uh. Plane, hotel, show, two hours of sleep, plane, and hotel again." Liam sighs, blowing at the short fringe of hair that falls against his forehead. "Louis, we've hardly done shit. All we do is tour."

"No," Louis says, his voice carefully protected. Leaning up on his elbows, Louis looks at Liam but seems to see beyond him, thinking something through. "There's something in there."

"Like what?" Liam asks, and even though he swore he was starting to hate the shape of the piano, something about it seems to brighten up. "Louis, keep going," Liam says, knowing how Louis gets when he's on to something.

"Well, we do the routine, right?" Louis says, sitting properly upright now. "But then, we do shit like, think of all those times you and me went and did stuff together. Like, when we saw the Alps, remember? Or we joke around on the tour bus until we pass out, or we play drinking games – that's the shit I remember, those small moments. The stuff you and me did. The boys, all of us. Those are the things that make tour so good, those kind of late night things. Write something about that."

"Like, the stuff we do? Just the weird in-between stuff?"

"Yeah, yeah," Louis says, his voice lighting up with the idea. "You and me running around strange cities like maniacs, making stuff up as we go along."

"The stuff between the daily grind, right?" Liam asks, even though he knows he's right. 

Without needing to hear anything more, Liam knows the exact thing Louis is trying to describe to him. It arrives fully formed in his head, perfectly transposed without even needing to hear anything else, the excitement in Louis' voice enough to give shape to the idea they trade back and forth. It's just there, almost like it's been waiting, just like how loving Louis has always been there.

Turning to the piano, Liam hammers out five strong major chords and sing-speaks: "mid-night me-mo-ries."

"A rock song –" Louis says, standing up now, walking over to where Liam is sitting. "Like something –"

" – 80s, yeah," Liam says. Using one finger he picks up a lilting upward-downward melody, nothing fancy. "Getting off the plane in a brand new city – uh – something something something something rhymes with city."

Standing behind Liam at the piano, Louis puts his hands on his shoulders and gives a quick squeeze. "That's it, man. That's fucking it. Let's just make it about us. What else do you remember?"

"I remember –" Liam stops and smiles, rolls his shoulders a bit just to feel Louis' hands hold on to him tighter. It's easy to remember all the places they've been, all of them marked out in his mind like pins in a map, some as vivid as if they happened yesterday, others faded out so the only thing Liam remembers is the way Louis kissed him before they went to their own rooms. "I remember – well, visiting a hundred different cities and thinking about how you and the boys were the only constant thing in my life. No matter where we went."

"That's it, then," Louis says, his voice a little wobbly before he clears his throat. He sits down next to Liam on the piano bench and looks down at the row of black and white in front of them. "That's what we write."

It takes their four hands on the piano and twenty minutes to bash out the chorus of the song. Two hours to find the verses and bridge. It wouldn't have taken so long if Louis had stayed on task, but Liam doesn't mind all the thumb wars or hickeys on his collar bones or bossa nova versions of _Smoke on the Water_ , because, later that night when Liam listens to the demo they recorded on his iPad, he can hear the way Louis has crept into every pause, every rhyme, every damn note of the whole damn song.

*

The piano lid is covered in newspaper, and on top of those pages are the remains of two take away haddock and chips, more cans of Red Bull, two iPads, one phone, the DVD remote, crumpled up bags of cheese and onion crisps, a half-empty jar of olives, and a motionless metronome. Throughout the day it has become their dining table, their writing desk, and now their bedroom.

They've switched places. It's three in the morning and Liam is half-asleep on the floor next to the piano while Louis picks out the same melody they came up with that afternoon over and over, slower and slower like a toy running out of batteries.

"Lou," Liam says, squinting open one eye. "You should go to bed."

"I know," Louis says, his voice heavy with sleepiness. "But we're almost done."

"We can finish it later," Liam says.

The piano goes silent. Liam can hear as Louis cracks the bones in his knuckles, a sigh following soon after. "I guess so."

The lights in the apartment are too bright, too white for this late at night. Looking out of the huge bay windows of Louis' apartment, Liam can see that they're one of only a few lit-up squares in the Rubik's cubes of the neighbouring apartment complexes. Liam sits up properly, drawing his legs under him to sit cross-legged on the floor next to Louis.

"What's bothering you?" Liam asks, rubbing the back of his neck. "You don't like the song?"

Louis doesn't turn to look at Liam, just shakes his head. "Nah, it's not that."

"What's up, then?"

Carefully, Louis lowers the lid over the piano keys, letting it slide silently closed. "I don't know. I don't wanna go to sleep, I guess."

"Why?" Liam asks. Like an old man, he grunts as he stands up. Sidling up next to Louis, Liam puts his hands on his shoulders. "Come on, you've gotta be tired by now."

"What if this doesn't work out?" Louis says suddenly, his palms flat on the shiny black wood of the piano lid. "I've done – I've done a lot of stuff in my life, Liam, and very –" Louis gives out a little huff of a laugh, but it doesn't sound like it was meant to be funny, "– very little of it has ever worked out."

"I can think of one really big thing that turned out quite all right," Liam says, pressing his thumbs into the tense muscles of Louis' shoulders, not very hard but enough to get Louis to relax a little.

"But that was – all of us. I've never done shit on my own." Louis voice sounds strange, like it's struggling between defeat and that iron-strong will Liam knows, like even now at his worst he's still so unwilling to give up. 

"Louis," Liam says, taking his hands off Louis' shoulders and sliding next to him on the piano bench instead. "Man. You know, when I first met you, I was really – really intimidated by you." 

"I know," Louis says, rolling his eyes and giving Liam a shove in the side. "You've told me as much."

"Shut up," Liam says, nudging Louis back. "It wasn't because you were loud and funny and – irresponsible. Well, it wasn't _just_ that." That gets a snicker out of Louis. "It was 'cause you could be yourself. Like, your own self. Fuck, you could do it with strangers, you could do it in front of all those people. On national fucking television, man. I didn't even know how to be myself when I was on my own. And there you were, every week, being funny and ridiculous and making people love _us_ , the whole band. I was – I was so totally in awe of you, man. I still am."

Louis doesn't say anything in reply, but he does let Liam put an arm around his shoulders and pull him in.

"And it was 'cause you were out there, taking the spotlight like it didn't even bother you. And that gave me the chance to – I don't know," Liam says, a smile tugging the corners of his lips. "You gave me the time to learn how to be myself. I saw the way you were, how you thought you could do _anything_ , and it changed me, I guess."

"Liam, I was _pretending_ ," Louis says. "I was acting in front of the cameras."

"So?" Liam says. It's so strange saying this to Louis, a boy that still kind of intimidates Liam. It's not that he hasn't seen Louis sad before (the things with his mother and grandparents, the soft tragedies that come from a distance when they're miles overseas), but he's never really seen Louis falter about himself. He knows Louis isn't invincible, but he's never seen Louis doubt himself this much. 

For some reason, it just makes Liam more sure of him. 

"You pretending was good enough to land us a ton of fans and a contract and launch all of our careers. You made us all think we could do anything, so we did it," Liam says.

"All right," Louis says, a bit stiffly.

"So, let's just keep pretending and see what happens, yeah?" Liam says. "And this time it won't just be you. You'll never be alone. I'll never let you go it alone, man."

"All right," Louis says, quieter this time. His head lands on Liam's shoulder with a thump, and Liam presses his lips against the crown of his head.

"So," Liam says. "Can I stay over?"

When Louis pushes him, Liam falls off the piano bench laughing.

*

They undress each other before going to bed. Dead tired, Liam sits on the edge of the bed while Louis pulls off his shirt. Liam gets his fingers around the elastic of Louis' pyjama bottoms and tugs them down. He gets his palms in under Louis' briefs and feels the warm heat of his hips and thighs before he tugs his underwear down, too. It could be sexy, a prelude to something else, but it never quite plays out.

The idea of sex stays with Liam until they slide in under the covers together, but it keeps its distance. Liam knows that, if they wanted, they could get off together and he knows for a fact it would be amazing. It would be so easy to fumble around under the blankets, make out, finish the night with a bang, but it's almost nicer not to do it.

Just knowing that the possibility of sex is there if they want is enough, a privilege they've given each other now so there's no need to rush it. It's just nice knowing it will be there in the morning, like the unfinished song, like the next day they get to make together.

"You know," Louis says sleepily as he crawls into bed, "Mick Jagger and David Bowie had an affair together. Had sex and everything."

"Really?" Liam asks, sliding down onto his side of the bed. "For real?"

"Yep," Louis says, curling up against his pillow. "So it's like – it's not like we're doing anything new."

That makes Liam smile. Any mention of _this_ , whatever this is, makes him smile these days. It's one thing to imagine that he and Louis are together, but hearing Louis confirm it just makes Liam glow.

"Which one are you?" Liam asks, shuffling across the mattress to get closer to Louis.

"Bowie," Louis says.

"Jagger," Liam claims at the exact same time.

Louis' seems too tired to laugh, but his smile is deep and vulnerable and sweet. "And that's why we work, mate."

Exhaustion kills the conversation, and they only have time to figure out who is going to be the big spoon (Liam, because even though Louis complains it's pretty obvious he wants to be held right now) before Louis turns off the lights and they fall asleep.

*

Breakfast on the road is always hurried and never delicious; flimsy croissants from the hotel's continental buffet or a bottled fruit smoothie is always the best case scenario. It's one of the luxuries Liam always looks forward to most when they're back home, a chance to take a second for himself and turn mornings into nice things, not the hectic mania of places to be, people to meet.

Waking up in Louis' bedroom again for the second day in a row, Liam immediately craves a nice big bowl of sugary cereal before he remembers that Louis' cupboards are bare. Groaning, he rolls over and throws his arm towards where Louis was sleeping.

_Gone to get food L. xx_ reads the note Louis left on his vacant side of the bed, and Liam stretches and yawns and grins in the big, empty bed. He wonders if he could sneak in another few minutes of sleep, but his stomach growls and the anticipation of a big breakfast and morning cartoons and Louis is enough to keep him awake.

Too lazy to shower, only brushing his teeth out of an obligation to Louis, Liam takes his time getting ready. He still hasn't been back to his own apartment yet, so he makes do by stealing a pair of Louis' briefs and one of his jumpers, pulling the hood over his head as he falls back into bed.

Liam doesn't properly get up until he hears Louis' keys in the lock and the door slamming shut.

"I got us a big fucking breakfast," Louis says as Liam wanders into the kitchen. Louis drops two big plastic bags onto the kitchen counter. "And then we're working until we're starving again, yeah?"

Liam keeps his hands in the pocket of the hoodie as he leans forward and presses a quick kiss against Louis' mouth. The best part of all of this is pretending that it's normal for him to do that, a short thankful kiss like this is how he greets Louis every morning, every breakfast they share together. It might only be the first time, but something about it feels already practiced and familiar. 

"What'd you get?" Liam asks.

"Full English," Louis says, opening up the Styrofoam containers in a puff of steam. Sausage, over easy eggs, back bacon, Heinz baked beans, roasted tomatoes, and soggy toast. It smells like a cold English morning when Liam was still in school, his mum putting out a big spread for the family on Sundays. "Fuck, you didn't even make a brew, man?"

"I just got up," Liam says, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. "I can put the kettle on if you want."

Louis snaps the elastic of Liam's briefs. "Eat it before it gets cold."

There are no cartoons to be found, but it is Wednesday at noon, after all. Liam settles on _Antiques Roadshow_ , adjusting his briefs as he sits cross-legged on the couch with his tray of food sitting on his lap. 

Morning happens all around Liam as he eats, using his plastic take-away fork to pile beans on toast. There's the sound of the kettle boiling, of Louis walking around the kitchen and marking everything he does with a noise: the clink of ceramic mugs, the rasp of a spoon in a pot of sugar, the fridge door opening and closing as he takes out the milk. It surrounds Liam like a simple routine, and he loves that he's one piece of it. 

Being a part of Louis' life wasn't always this easy, but it just makes morning like these so much nicer. After three years, Liam can't help but feel that he maybe earned this spot on the couch, this cup of tea Louis puts in front of him on the coffee table, this kiss Louis presses against his mouth, sweet with the spot of ketchup smeared on Liam's upper lip. He earned it over months, he earned it accidentally and he earned it because he tried to be different, to be himself, to be better because Louis thought he could be. 

"You sleep all right?" Liam asks.

"Yeah, well good," Louis says, settling in next to Liam on the couch as he turns the channel over to a football match. "How about you?"

"Really good, yeah," Liam says, licking vinegary HP sauce from his fingers. "Hey, I love you."

Louis smiles around a mouthful of bacon. "I wuff you choo," he says, still half-way through chewing.

When the football segment ends, BBC Sports launches into a recap of the latest cricket tests in Australia, making them both groan out loud. Louis wins the fight for the television remote, but Liam makes sure to tell him that he lost on purpose.

*

The rain comes in with the afternoon, a downpour that never lets up. Liam and Louis watch the storm as it draws over London like a curtain, a dark veil that starts at one end of the city as it sweeps towards them. The clouds are pulpy and dark like they've been bruised in a fight, making four in the afternoon feel like midnight. Louis flicks on the lights around the house as they're drawn into a premature sunset.

Even though he's almost twenty, afternoon rainstorms still make Liam feel like a kid. Back then, his mum would make hot chocolate and bring out the same 1000-piece puzzle of Buckingham Palace, two simple things that would always make Liam feel wrapped up and safe. They would spend the rest of the day putting it together while _Countdown_ played in the background and the rain hammered against the roof in double time, and honestly, looking back, they were some of the best days of Liam's life.

Until.

Today, instead of hot chocolate and a puzzle, Liam has a Diet Coke and Louis' guitar, but the rain still beats and Louis' place is so warm and there's nothing Liam would change.

"I – love – Louis," Liam sings, sitting on the couch with Louis' acoustic guitar, strumming three loud chords. "I love Louis, I love Louis, I love Louis."

"Something new?" Louis says, leaning against the arched doorway of the living room. 

"Just came to me," Liam says, biting his tongue between his teeth as he moves his fingers to new strings. "Then the chorus would go: I really fucking love Louis, I fuckin' lo-oo-oo-ove him."

Louis snorts, shaking his head. "Not very subtle, man."

"No?" Liam asks, raising his eyebrows innocently. "How about, uh. Louis' all right, I guess. Yeah, Louis' is pretty oka-a-a-ay."

"Okay, we can take a break, Christ," Louis says with a grin. "You could have just asked to stop for a little bit."

"No, no, I'm on to something here," Liam says urgently, finding a new chord that he plucks out smartly. "Yeah, with Louis you can't go wrong – sometimes he'll even wear a thong." Liam pauses, looking down at his hands before glancing up at Louis. "Lead single material, huh?"

"I've always wanted to smash a guitar over someone's head," Louis says darkly, though he still seems to be fighting laughter. "And Harry wears the thongs, man."

Liam puts the guitar down next to him on the couch and lounges back. "I guess I could use a break."

"Good," Louis says, pushing himself away from the doorway he was leaning against. He beckons Liam with one curled finger. "Because I've got a treat."

Liam's idea of a break is some digestives and a cup of tea, but as he follows Louis through the kitchen and down the hall towards the bedrooms, he knows that Louis isn't thinking about biscuits. 

Even though they're in an apartment, the sound of the rain still fills the air, muted and hissing like a radio. There must be a gale because the windows rattle in their panes as they pass each open bedroom door, lending everything a feeling of glorious doom.

Just like Spider-Man had his spidey senses, Liam gets this tingly, excited buzz in his body when he suspects that Louis is hatching a plan. It's not just the high of adrenaline that makes Liam almost bounce as he walks behind Louis, but also kind of just knowing that Louis trusts him with something like this. 

It's been so long since the first time Louis chose to bring Liam on an adventure, but the feeling never fades.

"The bathroom?" Liam asks, raising an eyebrow.

Taking something from behind his ear, Louis holds out his palm. "Picked it up this morning," Louis says happily, presenting the neatly rolled joint to Liam. "Remember when we hotboxed the bathroom on the bus?"

"Oh, shit," Liam says, taking the joint out of Louis' hand and giving it a sniff. "God, it's been months. Smells – wow, smells sticky."

"Californian," Louis says. "It's supposed to be really good, like the stuff we got back in the States."

"You wanna write stoned?" Liam asks, handing the joint back to Louis. Their fingers brush together, handling the weed like a precious object. "Have we ever written stoned?"

"Worth a shot, hey," Louis says, looking down at the joint curiously. "If it's good enough for The Beatles, I think it's good enough for us."

"We're hardly Lennon and McCartney," Liam says. They haven't even lit up the joint yet, but he finds himself fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt anyway, a fit of childish nerves that comes over Liam every time he's about to do something intimidating and adult. 

"'Course we aren't," Louis says, his grin arching impishly. "I'd never fight with you about whose name goes first, man."

"Right," Liam says flatly. "Because mine comes first alphabetically."

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Louis asks, frowning. "My name obviously goes first."

"It's just a fact that Payne-Tomlinson sounds better than Tomlinson-Payne," Liam says. 

Louis slaps Liam's wrist as he reaches forward to take the joint again. "How about fuck you? Tomlinson and Fuck You. You like that?"

"It goes alphabetical! That's just how it's done!" Liam shouts, grinning, getting up closer to Louis' face. "Meaning it'd be Fuck You and Tomlinson. Fuck You-Tomlinson. I could live with that, babe."

"This isn't over yet," Louis says, slapping at Liam's hand again. Like a snake, Louis snaps forward, plants a couple of biting, sharp kisses on Liam's mouth.

Liam laughs and takes it, running a hand up along the nape of Louis' neck. "I guess we could compromise," Liam whispers.

It's not long before Louis melts, pressing his forehead against Liam's own and pausing for a second. "Wanna get stoned with me?" Louis asks, the tips of their noses just touching.

"I really, really do."

*

The bathroom is small, only just big enough for the two of them when Louis closes the door behind Liam.

"Hey, put a towel at the bottom of the door, would you?" Louis says as he slides by Liam towards the shower.

Choosing a polka dot beach towel that makes him smile, Liam crams it against the half-inch gap at the bottom of the door, shoving it up close like they're trying to keep the smell away from nosy parents. Crouching down to make sure it covers all the cracks, Liam startles as Louis turns on the shower.

"What're you doing?" Liam asks, standing up and leaning back against the sink.

"Trust me," Louis says, turning the knobs as hot as they can go. "It's heaven."

"You got a light?" Liam asks, plucking the joint from behind Louis' ear.

"Hold on, wait for the steam," Louis says.

They've replaced the sound of the rainstorm outside with one of their own, a hissing rush of the shower that soon fogs up bathroom mirror. Clouds of steam curl in the corners of the bathroom, making new weather inside, and Liam feels the itchy, prickling feeling of sweat starting to bead on his forehead.

Louis keeps looking around like he's expecting little lightning bolts to start falling from this man-made storm. His hair is limp and Liam can see his eyelashes fanning out in clumps, water condensing and trickling down from his temples. When Louis aims a grin at him, Liam can't help but feel completely disarmed.

This idea, though so similar to the hundreds of half-failed, half-genius plans Louis has come up with over the years, feels different than anything else they've shared. Like always, it floods Liam with a thrill that comes out in a red blush and a grin that hurts his cheeks, but there's something else as well. 

Instead of standing one step beside and behind Louis and following his every command, this time the proximity feels temporary, so easily forgotten when Liam grabs Louis' shirt and pulls him a bit closer. The excitement of getting caught is replaced with the quiet thrill of being happily found out, Louis getting a chance to see the boy Liam has slowly become since this whole thing started.

It feels like the first time Liam drove on his own after getting his license. It feels like stepping out from the last exam of the school year. As Liam laughs and smiles and hugs against Louis' side looking down at their sacred joint, it feels like knowing where he belongs. 

"All right," Louis says, taking a plastic lighter out of the pocket of his pyjama bottoms and handing it to Liam. "Smoke up, dude."

The joint is damp with all the steam, and it takes a second to flare and burn. Blowing carefully on the bright ruby of the ember, Liam takes a careful hit while Louis smirks at him, bumping their hips together. The joint crackles like electricity and Liam inhales that first dirty, skunky breath. It rushes into him the same way Louis kisses, as sudden as a slap and lighting his whole body up from within. 

"Shit," Liam says, the breath of smoke he lets out mingling invisibly with the steam. 

"Is it good?" Louis asks, taking the joint from Liam's damp fingers. 

"It's hard to tell with all the steam," Liam says. "Wow."

Pinching the joint between his forefinger and thumb, Louis takes a few sharp hits. The smoke hisses out between his clenched teeth and Louis' whole body snakes slowly from side to side as he closes his eyes and lets it wash over him. 

"Shit," Louis agrees. 

"Shit," Liam says, starting to laugh.

Between the thick clouds of yellow smoke they breathe and the thick, sauna air of the shower, it's hard to tell where the high is coming from. Liam feels dizzy in the best way, the dizzy of waking up after a good dream, and every breath he takes fills his head with cotton. He's only had a few hits, but Liam's fingers already feel numb, and everything he touches seems soft and far away.

"How're we gonna smoke this whole thing?" Louis asks, leaning back against the bathroom wall. The wet air has made his hair dark and thick, curling up at the tips, a circle of dampness around the collar of his t-shirt like they just went running ten miles. 

"Smoke what?" Liam asks, reaching forward to touch the little curls of Louis' soaked hair.

"The joint," Louis says, resting his head back against the wall, laughing silently in the air.

"Oh, wow, don't mind if I do," Liam says, taking the joint back from Louis. 

"God, it's so hot in here," Louis asks, struggling against his shirt as he tries to pull it off. 

Liam doesn't have a chance to take another hit because he can't stop laughing at Louis, shirt wrapped around his head as he fights against it. It's like he's boxing with a ghost, and just the idea of that sends Liam back into unstoppable laughter. 

"Help," Louis says, hands dropping to his sides with the shirt still tangled around his head, collar hooked up around one ear. 

"All right," Liam manages to squeeze out, biting down hard on his bottom lip to try to keep from laughing. "Hold on, the Ghostbusters are here."

"What are you talking about?" Louis asks, waving his hands blindly for Liam.

"Who you gonna call?" Liam asks, making him break down in laughter all over again. 

"What ghost?" Louis asks again.

Propping the joint in the corner of his mouth, Liam works at unravelling Louis. It wouldn't be that hard, but Louis keeps trying to help, his hands crashing against Liam's own, the both of them fighting over the shirt instead of working together. The drifting smoke from the lit joint stings Liam's eyes, the quick little puffs of it just making Liam feel dreamier and stupider by the second, and he can't stop staring at Louis' half-naked body and the muscles and the softness and the perfect, perfect shape of him.

"Fuck – fuck –" Louis says, struggling with the way it's bound around his neck.

"Just a little bit –" Liam says, untucking a sleeve, stretching the collar around the back of Louis' head, " – and, free!"

Louis drops the shirt to the ground and stands in front of Liam panting. The fight, the shower, and glowing heat of the joint all work together to make Louis' body gleam with sweat. From the round muscle of his shoulders to the slight ridge of his hips, Louis seems to glow in the muted gold of the steamy bathroom lights. Liam can't help reaching out and touching Louis' stomach, two fingers that he traces from the bottom of Louis' rib cage down to his navel. In all the unreality of the weed, Louis feels amazingly solid.

Louis puts his hands on Liam's sides, fingers gathering around his ribs to hold him still, just for a moment, before he steps closer. Taking the joint from between Liam's lips, Louis snubs it out on the edge of the sink, and kisses him. 

It's a sloppy, dizzy kind of kiss, but all of Liam's worry dissolves at the touch, like parting the curtains of steam and seeing clearly again.

God, he wants Louis so much. 

Everything happens at once. Liam grips the waistband of Louis' pyjama bottoms and, as he falls to his knees, he tugs them down in one. Louis laughs and lets go of Liam, his hands coming back to brush through Liam's hair. There's a loud _smack_ as Louis's shoulder blades crash back against the wall, and more hiccupping laughter as Louis looks up at the sweating bathroom ceiling, grinning childishly.

In the heat of everything, Louis is already so hard. Liam rocks back on his heels and runs his hands down the sides of Louis' thighs. One last prickle of apprehension shivers through him, but it vanishes the moment he sees Louis looking down at him.

"Babe," Louis says fondly. Liam can feel his hands play with a tuft of hair at the back of his neck. "Are you proposing or something?"

"I've never –"

"I don't care. Fuck, man, it's _you_ ," Louis says, somehow even warmer than the steam in the room.

Laughter lances through Liam's guts but he holds still, taking Louis' cock in one hand and jerking him off slowly. Liam always expected sex, sudden raw sex like this, to feel thrilling and forbidden, but he just feels stupidly happy. He wants to get Louis off, he wants to taste him and remember it, he just wants to make Louis feel _good_.

It's all he ever wanted, really, and Liam loves finding out that there are a thousand ways to do it.

Louis tastes salty. Liam parts his mouth, just takes in the tip of Louis' cock, his lips pressing down around the ridge of the head. He has no fucking idea what he's doing, but he can feel Louis shiver when he licks at the underside of his cock, so he does it again. 

Louis never pushes him down, but his hands stay in Liam's hair, a tactile reminder that they're tied together, twisted like rope. Liam goes down deeper, takes more of Louis' cock in his mouth, and he feels Louis' hands get tighter. More again, going as far down as he can go around Louis' cock and feeling every inch of him as Liam drags his lips along the length.

Finding a rhythm is as easy as it is when they make music together. Liam feels full of a new kind of bravery, the kind where he takes what he wants, and it just makes him hungrier. The taste of Louis fills his mouth, musky and boyish and raw, and Liam loves how fucking hard Louis is when he bucks a little into his mouth. Bobbing down over Louis cock, Liam takes as much as he can, loving the way Louis reacts to all of it.

It doesn't take much at all. It's so hot in here, Liam's hair soaked through and the feel of sweat dripping down his throat and the back of his neck, and it's not long before Louis is whimpering and squirming a little against the wall. Louis' cock is heat in Liam's mouth, and Liam licks the taste from him. 

Dragging his tongue from the base of Louis' cock and the coarseness of his hair there, Liam slowly slides his mouth up to the head. He watches Louis the whole time, looking up through his wet lashes, and he sees Louis staring right back. Pupils dilated inky black, mouth open just enough to gasp, a love in his eyes that Liam never even imagined. 

"Fuck, man," Louis says, pressing a hand to the back of Liam's neck. "I'm right there – I'm right there, Liam –"

Giving a nod that Louis seems to instantly understand, Liam keeps going. He wraps his lips around Louis' cock and feels as Louis unravels before him. Sucking in against the head, playing his tongue against the place Louis reacts to most, feeling this surge of unbelievable grandness inside. It's all about the power Louis gives him, the strange trembling strength of his love handed over.

"Li – Liam," Louis stammers out and then he's gone.

Liam knows exactly what he's doing, so he doesn't pull off of Louis' cock. Knowing, absolutely knowing this is something that Louis would find filthy and hot and amazing, Liam swallows

The taste of Louis' come pulses over Liam's tongue. It's saltwater and thick. Liam swallows back impulsively, and keeps going as Louis slams his fist against the wall and comes inside Liam's mouth, body twitching as he spills out.

Only when he's sure Louis is done, Liam pulls off of Louis' cock, lips smacking around the head. Grinning, Liam rocks back on his heels again and very deliberately wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows again.

"Well, fuck me," Louis finally manages to say. He laughs, nervous at first, and then fuller as he looks down at Liam. His eyes shine, probably from the water in the air, but Liam has never seen him as vulnerable and blown out as he is now. 

Liam swallows again, though the taste of Louis is still all over his mouth. And he laughs, too. "How was it? For a first time?"

Louis sinks back against the wall, sliding down until he's sitting on the ground across from Liam. He pushes his sweaty hair back, rubs one eye with a fist like he's sleepy. "Dirty, dirty boy," he says, reaching forward to poke a finger against Liam's cheek. Liam's smiles at the touch. "You really can do anything you put your mind to. Mouth to."

Falling back against the bathroom cabinet, Liam laughs and draws his knees up, hugging them to his chest. "I – really liked that," Liam says, and he's not sure how much more red he can get, his cheeks burning so hot he thinks he must shine.

"Was that really your first time?" Louis asks. His body seems so limp from the weed, slumped against the wall with his head cocked to one side like it's too heavy to lift. 

Liam nods slowly, touching a hand to his tingling lips. "I'd – thought of it. I mean, I've _gotten_ a – a blowjob before," he says, and Louis seems to smile at his embarrassment with the word, "so I knew the – um, the basics. But yeah, first time. What about you? Have you ever – uh –"

Louis' smile becomes a smirk, looking up at the ceiling like he's remembering a tricky little memory. "What do you think?"

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Liam gives a shrug. "I honestly have no idea, Lou. You've – you're always a total surprise for me, man."

Frowning, Louis swipes to slap at Liam but misses. "Hey."

"In a really good way," Liam rushes to say. "The things you can do – you just surprise me is all. You can honestly do anything, it's amazing. I – like being surprised by you. Honest."

"Well," Louis says, smiling again. "I was a curious kid before you knew me. A fucked up kid who just wanted to see what the world had to offer."

"So," Liam says, resting his chin on his roughed up knees, "you totally did."

"I'm fucking mysterious," Louis says sharply.

"But you did, right?" Liam asks, almost laughing now. He gets giggly when he's stoned as it is, but watching Louis trying to squirm his way out of this is priceless.

Louis flashes a hard stare at Liam. "I – may have – _explored_ before, yes. Remember, lad, I was eighteen when we met. I've _lived_ , mate. I've seen things in this world that you could never even dream of."

"In West Yorkshire?" Liam says, sucking in his bottom lip and smiling as he watches Louis' anger flare.

"You can fuck right off, love," Louis says, letting that same Yorkshire bleed into his words so easily. Even though he's still fully naked, dick soft and dark hair curly, there's still so much strength and fight in him. It's really fucking hot, actually.

"Was it with anyone I know?" Liam asks, loving how he knows just what to say to wind up Louis a certain way. He knows how to make Louis curse and shout, he knows how to make him uncomfortably sweet and kind, he knows how to get those perfect little whimpers out from between his thin lips. Even though Louis is still full of surprises, even though there are parts of him Liam will uncover slowly over the next days and weeks and months, Liam never would have guessed that the strange and foreign landscape of Louis's life would one day be as familiar as his own back garden.

"No, fuck off," Louis says. "You think I would? With one of the lads?"

"Am I not one of the lads?" Liam asks.

Louis frowns, a turning down of his mouth like he expected more from Liam. "Shut up. You're Liam. Whatever, fuck you."

"Hey," Liam says slowly, his mind working different with all this hazy smoke and heat, "you think any of the boys ever – you know, gave head to someone?"

Louis gives a big roar of a laugh, but when he comes down from it he seems enthralled. "Shit. Could you imagine? Holy fuck, oh my God."

"Zayn'd be so – intense about it," Liam says.

"He'd try and fucking smoulder the whole time, try to look all fierce with a dick in his mouth," Louis says. "And Harry –"

"He'd probably tumble off the bed halfway through," Liam says. "Or he'd trip and land on someone's dick and think, hey, it's just a friendly thing to do, y'know?"

Tears mix with the wet on Louis' eyelashes as he doubles over laughing, hugging his arms around his chest as he gasps for the short breaths allowed with all this steam. 

"Niall would just be so fucking _happy_ about it," Louis manages to say, winded and still laughing, "you know he'd just be happy to make someone happy."

" _Yeh_ ," Liam says with his terrible Niall impression, "sucking dick, good craic!"

It takes a long time for either of them to stop laughing. Everything is just so damn funny, and so fucking _happy_ , the weed and the music they've got waiting for them and just the joy of how easy this all seems. They just hooked up, Liam just sucked Louis' _cock_ for God's sake, but nothing feels nearly as strange and awkward as it should. They laugh until it hurts, Liam's sides aching, a laughter that's almost exhausting, but he never wants it to end.

It's just them, who they are, with nothing getting in the way.

"I love you," Louis says finally, the last few chuckles evaporating as he looks Liam in the eye. "I really do."

"I love you, too," Liam answers, completely burned out and happily tired. He clings to those words like an anchor in the rough seas of his high.

Louis gives a showman's bow, nodding like he appreciates Liam's comment, but when he looks up again, his smile is waning. 

"This is so crazy," Louis says, speaking into the hollow that's left behind once the laughter has finished. 

"I know," Liam says with another laugh, looking at Louis' naked body and trying to wink. "I never – thought this would – I never knew I even _could_ do this."

"No, no, man," Louis says, reaching out to put a hand on Liam's knee. Something like electricity flows through them, jolting Liam and taking away the dreamy cotton of his high. He's seen this look on Louis before, in late nights and later mornings, it's something he could hear over the phone when Louis calls on lonely nights. 

"What are you thinking about?" Liam asks softly in an almost paranoid whisper, like he's worried that even ghosts might be eavesdropping on this moment.

"Just, like. Shit. When I was in school, yeah? I was – I was just in this, like, really bad way. I don't know." Louis shakes his head, and Liam can see his knuckles go white as he clenches his fists. "Nothing I did was ever good enough. You know? I was like, falling apart. All my teachers thought I was a little shit, and I _was_ a little shit. Amount to nothing, you know?"

"I know they _said_ that, but –" Liam says, but stops short when he realises Louis isn't done.

"I'd get, like, drunk all the time. Not like this, not anything like this, this was – no, it wasn't nearly as happy as this. I know I told all those stupid stories about waking up at the airport or in a shopping trolley or whatever, but at the time I was – I was spiralling, like. No one – needed me for anything, and. Fuck, I know, I know, I had my family, I had Stan the Man, but no one ever actually needed me for anything." Louis shakes his head, smiling though he doesn't seem terribly happy. "I don't know. And then there was the band, dropped into my lap all of a sudden, this huge change in a matter of weeks. And I'd never felt like that before. And then there was _you_. I don't know. Being somebody like this, I've never done it before. Being wanted."

"You're very good at it," Liam whispers.

"'Cause of _you_ man," Louis says. "S'like I'm a – a better person when you're around. Fuck, that sounds so fucking stupid. I don't know. Just, no one wanted me before. I like – being there for someone. Some people. I like knowing that there's someone who can count on me. I like being – reliable."

"You're stoned," Liam says fondly, putting a hand over the one Louis keeps on his knee.

"I know," Louis says, cheeks all red and mouth so soft. "It's still true."

The quiet that drifts between them is easy and unforced, and Liam lingers in it. In all the time he spent being in awe of Louis, all of the months he was _changed_ (for the better, always for the better), he never thought he might have had the same affect on Louis. He never thought himself loud enough, strong enough, good enough to impact someone as huge and volatile as Louis. He always just felt like a moon orbiting a sun, really. It's too strange an idea to take in right now, but Liam vows to remember it.

"Okay, _I'm_ stoned," Liam says finally, making Louis giggle. 

Leaning forward almost until he falls over, Liam closes in on Louis and kisses him. Louis takes the kiss gladly, rubbing the back of Liam's neck and kissing him slowly, memorably.

"I'm gonna pass out if we stay in here any longer," Louis says against Liam's mouth. "The steam was a stupid fucking idea, shit."

Liam stumbles when he stands up, but Louis stands right behind him with his hands on Liam's hips. When they finally unlock the door and swing it open, a rush of blessedly cold air blasts in their faces and they both trip over each other and crash to the floor, mostly naked and laughing, tangled together as their skin starts to prickle with gooseflesh.

*

Spending an afternoon lying on the carpet and listening to music as their buzz wears off doesn't seem like a waste of time when Louis calls it _music research_. Louis spends £500 on iTunes in less than an hour, downloading absolutely everything he can get his hands on.

No two songs are the same. They listen to everything from Nina Simone to Blink-182, Roxy Music and Bob Marley, Joni Mitchell and the Broadway musical _Cabaret_ and KISS and something by Vivaldi and Tina Turner and knee-slapping cockney music hall songs. Louis just throws on a playlist of everything he downloaded and lets it play while they lie back and watch the ceiling swirl above them as the bass of a Gorillaz song beats in Liam's chest like a hammer.

The notes they keep about their 'musical education' are haphazard and hard to read, but it doesn't matter. Louis jots down lyrics he likes, writes some of his own, all of it somewhere between stealing, borrowing, and inventing. Liam's contributions make a lot less sense: _use this_ and _yes!!_ and _do things_ , all of which he forgets the instant he writes them down.

It's like everything they've been doing on tour, bouncing from country to country and hearing the sounds that drift on the air – castanets and classical guitar in Spain to the thumping death metal of a nearby Norwegian nightclub – has been practice for this week of writing. None of it might get used, or all of it might get used, but that's not the point; all that matters is how it has coloured their lives. 

"This is good, this is really good," Louis will sometimes say, rolling over on his side to look at Liam like he's checking to make sure Liam loves it just as much. "Don't you think?"

"Who is this?" Liam asks.

"Florence and the Machine, I think," Louis says. "Just listen, though." 

"Okay," Liam says. "What do you like about it most?"

" _Shh_ ," Louis hushes. "Just listen."

They hold hands for eleven songs straight, until their palms are clammy and their arms go numb.

The rain hasn't let up all day, and continues deep into the night. After the heat of their sauna, everything else feels so amazingly, welcomingly cold. But after an hour of shivering and not wanting to leave Louis's side, Liam finally gives in and raids Louis' closet. Grabbing one of his clean hoodies, Liam pulls it on, finding it just a bit too small.

It's hard to tell what Louis' smell is anymore. Liam has been here long enough to almost think of it as his own, that mix of Louis' cologne and fabric softener and _Louis-ness_ all over everything. Sometimes – like now, in the tightness of his clothes – Liam will just get a whiff of it though, walking past the linen closet or through Louis' open bedroom door, and even as it becomes as normal as anything else, it still manages to knock Liam a little bit sideways.

"Hey, what should we do for dinner?" Liam asks as he walks back into the living room. "It's almost ten and we haven't eaten since breakfast."

It's strange, really, how hunger doesn't come when Liam has a thousand things he'd rather be doing.

Crouching by his laptop, Louis is typing something out and he doesn't turn to look at Liam as he walks in. "Dunno. Order something? Pizza?"

"Sure," Liam says. "What are you doing, man?"

"Wait," Louis says, and Liam waits. Louis' boxers are slung low on his hips and Liam can see the dimples at the small of his back as he leans forward. There's still a funny feeling in Liam's chest when he sees some naked part of Louis' body and can remember exactly how it feels to touch him there. He almost laughs thinking of all the other places on his body he hasn't explored yet, but will. "There."

The speakers of Louis' laptop crackle and spit like he just put down a record on a player. Horns start to play, a thin and distant sound like it's coming from a hundred years in the past. And lastly, a woman's voice, wavering but strong.

"What's this?" Liam asks, standing with his weight on one leg, legs naked except for his boxer briefs. "It sounds – I've heard this before, I think."

"It's Vera Lynn," Louis says, finally standing up. He stretches his arms to the ceiling before turning to look at Liam. "My grandparents absolutely adored her. She was one of them singers who played for the troops during the War, like. My nan used to play all of her stuff when we were at their place for Christmas. _The White Cliffs of Dover_ , you know, stuff like that. You know her?"

"It's so familiar," Liam says, tilting his head to the side as he listens to the music. It sounds like London blackouts, and street parties, and the Queen. Even though Liam has never lived through any of that, it feels somehow nostalgic. Not for that time, but for a part of Louis' life that Liam is only starting to discover. "It's really – cool. I don't know what to call it."

"I loved having Christmas at my nan's," Louis says, taking a few steps towards Liam in time with the song. "This music and the giant joint of lamb my granddad would make. It really, just – reminds me of them. So fucking much."

"You never told me that before," Liam says, watching as Louis gets closer, feeling the pull of him like a magnet getting stronger.

"I told you," Louis says, reaching out and grabbing Liam's hand, "I'm very, very mysterious."

"Louis," Liam says, letting Louis tug him closer, letting his feet move in time to the music, "are you asking me to da –"

" – shut your fucking mouth," Louis says sweetly as he puts his hand on Liam's hip and they start to step together in a slow circle.

Liam is pretty sure he's sobered up from the joint, but it's hard to tell right now because his heart is hammering like crazy and his head feels oddly light and fuzzy. Maybe it's just Louis, and the way their bodies press together, and the nakedness of Louis' memory making everything so much deeper than two stupid boys dancing to an old song.

"God, I love the way you smell," Louis says, pressing his face against Liam's neck.

"You always tell me I stink," Liam says, hand smoothing down across Louis' back.

The laugh Louis gives is quiet, and Liam can feel it in a small warm spot on his skin. "You _do_. But right now you just smell like – like man and cologne and dirt and sweat and... you. You smell like all the times we hugged after a really great show. You smell like all the good times I've had in my life. You stink, man."

This one tune is only a couple of minutes long, but they keep moving even in the few seconds of silence before another ancient, warbling song begins again. The rain comes down against the windows with a crackle like a record player, making it feel as if the room is tightening around them like a hug. 

Everything Liam is wearing belongs to Louis. Everything in this room, in this house belongs to Louis, but as Louis rests his chin against Liam's shoulder it suddenly feels shared. It's just like the music they make, bits and pieces coming from each of them, but when it's written down on a page it suddenly becomes _theirs_.

It makes it a lot easier to ask the same question Liam asks every night.

"Can I stay?" Liam asks.

"You should always stay," Louis says, as they continue their slow, stumbling dance.

*

The days are easier to mark by the songs they finish than by the date on the calendar. Sometimes they sleep straight through the night, sometimes they work well past dawn. Too often they end up falling into Louis' bed at noon and getting a full night's sleep when the sun is in the sky, waking up at dinner time and ready for more writing.

More than once Liam has mixed up a sunrise with a sunset, only realising which one it is by which side of the city he's looking at.

The mess on the piano becomes a second home, but as time goes on, the pile of _maybe_ and _what if?_ becomes much smaller than the pile of _finished_ and _half-done_. Ten songs, eleven, in less than a week. Maybe a week? Who can tell at this point.

It's past midnight when Liam leaves the apartment to buy dinner, and he only knows that because he watches as men and women come stumbling, drunk, out of a nearby pub. 

The take away shop isn't far from Louis' apartment, and Liam walks with his hands tucked into his pockets and his hood drawn up. The streets are wet from an old rain and they reflect all the lights of London in the gutters like a child's finger painting. Liam's shoes get wet, a sogginess that sinks into his socks. At the nearby chippie, Liam (using Louis' crisp ten pound notes) buys doner kebabs, lots of garlic sauce, and a big helping of chips that come in a cone of thick parchment paper. 

Waiting for the spotty teenager behind the counter to wrap everything up, Liam sits on one of the peeling wooden benches by the front door. He thinks about texting Louis something funny, something stupid, but before he gets the chance he hears something familiar over the speakers. Straining to hear over the snap and pop of the boiling oil, Liam just manages to hear the chorus of _Live While We're Young_ , his own voice singing to him while he waits for his food.

It doesn't make Liam laugh, though it should. He remembers everything so vividly: when the band was given the finished song for the first time, someone else's music and lyrics to be sung, the recording process as he sang the same lines over and over, watching the other boys follow suit. Filming the music video, hearing it played on the radio for the first time, singing it in concert again and again.

When Liam's food is ready, he absolutely knows what he wants to do. 

Louis is sitting on the couch watching an episode of _Blackadder_ when Liam walks in with their late, late dinner. Louis is half-dressed, as usual, in pyjama bottoms and bare feet with a t-shirt wrapped around his neck like a scarf, and he makes a silent _come here_ gesture without even turning to look at Liam.

"Lou?" Liam asks, hooking one of the looped handles of the takeaway around Louis' wrist. 

"Something wrong?" Louis asks, pulling the bag down into his lap as he sorts through the haul. "No more kebabs?"

"No, no, it's not that," Liam says. He takes a seat next to Louis on the couch, and Louis seems to sympathetically feel the weight in Liam's chest, putting the food down on the coffee table so he can rest his head on Liam's shoulder. "I've been thinking."

"'Bout what?" Louis asks.

"I know we said we'd send the music to the boys later, when we were finished," Liam says softly, "but I was thinking, like, let's just do it now, you know? Press send and get it over with."

"Send the boys the demos?" Louis asks, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his chin jutting sharply into Liam's bicep when he turns to look up at him. 

It's like feeling drunk and having that impulse to do something stupid, Liam's mind totally consumed by the idea of breaking the privacy of the music he makes with Louis. He's afraid of losing his nerve tomorrow, afraid that the bravery he has pumping through his blood right now might run thin and scared if he waits too long. Like saying _I love you_ for the first time, it's something Liam can't take back, and he wants the songs to be sent before he has a chance to second-guess himself.

Despite all of that anxiety, this is the only thing Liam can think of that would make this dream he's living in feel _real_. Send the music and let the boys hear what has been happening. And he so badly wants it to be real.

"Yeah," Liam says. "I dunno how I'll feel tomorrow, maybe just do it now – no going back, right?"

"Okay," Louis says simply, lifting his head from Liam's lap and sitting upright on the couch. He picks up his closed laptop from the floor and powers it on, bringing up his e-mail. "You sure?"

Liam nods. 

When Liam was twelve, his family went on a summer holiday to Blackpool. Visiting the Pleasure Beach, his sisters tried to get him to ride one of the huge roller coasters with them. It was never something Liam wanted to do, terrified of the height and the speed and the maturity of all the kids who were lined up in front of them, but when Ruth said "Liam, you don't have to do it, but I think you'll regret it if you don't try," it made something in him tighten up, and Liam remembers taking a big nervous swallow and setting his jaw before finally agreeing to go with them. 

It ended up being the most fun he'd ever had in his life, and he followed his sisters on every other ride they went on, proud of conquering his fear and proud of being part of their group. Proud of doing something scary with people he loves.

Liam swallows hard and grits his jaw. "I'm sure."

Louis finds the files, those scratchy recordings they made around the piano, just the skeletons of their huge ideas, and he adds them as an e-mail attachment, lining up Harry, Niall, and Zayn's e-mail addresses. _Tell us what you think xoxox_ reads the entirety of the e-mail Louis writes, bringing the cursor over the send button and hesitating. "Ready?"

The worst part of the rollercoaster was the chainlift, the slow tick-tick-tick as it brought Liam (shackled into his seat, pressing down on his chest so hard his heart felt like it was trying to break the restraints) to the top of the hill. Once Liam got a look at the world from so high – miles and miles of beaches at low tide, the streets full of people and kids with balloons, and the cars like toys – this feeling like lightness flooded through him, like he wasn't about to drop but simply take off, with wings he didn't know he had.

"Send it," Liam says

It just takes one little click to send the e-mail. One simple gesture that sends all their melodies and choruses and notes and hours and hours of work out into the world. And then it's done.

"You okay?" Louis asks, raising his eyebrows with sincere concern. Everything seems forgotten in that one moment – the food they were starving for sitting ignored on the table, Rowan Atkinson on the television telling jokes to no one, the sharp laughter of drunk people in the street – and Louis seems entirely focused on Liam. 

It's amazing how intense Louis' attention can be when it's turned wholly on one thing, usually so scattershot and flighty, and Liam isn't sure if he should grin or blush under the weight of it. Liam's heart feels as tightly squeezed as it did on the rollercoaster, but just like that moment he feels oddly free as well. 

"I hope they like it," Liam says quietly.

"You know how proud of us they are, right?" Louis says, leaning back on the couch, looking at the small square of his computer and the amazing thing they just did. 

It's so much better than Liam thought it would be, marvelling at how different everything feels after just a single mouse click. Liam knew he would have to share the music eventually, but he never realised how claustrophobic he felt keeping those songs private. 

Most of all, Liam likes knowing that someone else will hear how good he is with Louis, how good they are together. It's an amazing relief knowing that the silence has been broken, that he doesn't have to keep pretending this thing he has with Louis isn't as huge as it feels. It's like he just admitted a secret that had been weighing on him for months, a truth he didn't know he wanted to tell. 

And he does, he does want to tell it, he wants the boys to know. Fuck, he wants everyone to know.

"I'm proud of us," Liam says quietly. "You always – remind me how to feel proud of myself."

Louis reaches over and pats Liam's knee a couple of times, his hand finally resting there. "Well, we _are_ amazing after all."

"Amazing," Liam repeats, nodding.

"So amazing," Louis agrees, and the more they say it the more sarcastic it sounds. Liam doesn't mind that though, he likes knowing that they can be amazing, and they can be worthless, and they can be fuck-ups and still make something a little bit beautiful. 

"So," Liam says as Louis crashes back against his side.

"So," Louis echoes playfully. "Which one of us is going to get fucked?"

Liam gives a sharp, scandalised laugh before he realises Louis isn't kidding around. "Seriously?"

"I don't know," Louis says, his shrug shoved up against Liam's ribs. "It's probably something we should discuss! You wanna have sex, don't you?" 

"Of course I do," Liam says, trying to ignore the burn in his cheeks. The burn he knows Louis wants to see.

"So, I've never really – done this before. I thought we should just get it out in the open," Louis says smartly, patting Liam's knee again. "So, which of us is going to get fucked, huh?"

"Well," Liam says, swallowing hard. He learns a new kind of bravery every day with Louis, and this one makes his cheeks burn and his smile shy. He lets out a laugh, and loves knowing that this will get a rise out of Louis. "I'd like to have a go first, if that's okay. Getting fucked, I mean."

"Fuck," Louis says, rubbing a hand over Liam's stomach, biting down gently against his shoulder. "That's really fucking cute and I have no fucking idea why. Why the fuck is that so cute?"

"Cute?" Liam asks, wriggling a finger in against Louis' side to scrabble against his ribs.

"Fuck you," Louis says, still looking puzzled about why this is cute.

Liam tries to raise his eyebrows innocently, but he can't hold back his smirk. 

"So, can I stay?" Liam asks.

*

_From: Niall H._  
To: Louis Tomlinson  
Date: Sun, June 1, 2013 at 1:30 AM  
Subject: New songs

_Holy shit ! Incredible incredible stuff ! Cant believe you guys made all u this fucking legends ! Cant wait to see u guys soon cant wait to hear them in person new album is going to be AMAZING_

_xxxx_

*

_From: Zayn M._  
To: Louis Tomlinson  
Date: Sun, June 1, 2013 at 1:41 AM  
Subject: New songs

_AMAZING!!!!!! Even better than last time!!!! Love the second one a LOT and I really want to start singing it with you two. Glad to see Liams been keeping you productive all I've done is sleep lol ;) Keep sending me stuff!!!_

_\- Z_

*

_From: Harry S._  
To: Louis Tomlinson  
Date: Sun, June 1, 2013 at 1:55 AM  
Subject: New songs

_It's so good, it's so so good. I hope you guys know how good these are because I'm just in love in love in love and you're the best. I really hope you know that. I love you guys so so so so so much :)_

*

"See," Louis says, tucking himself closer against Liam's side as they read the e-mails together on his phone in the plush, fluffy nest of his bed. Louis' naked chest, his naked thighs are still sticky with sweat when he clings to Liam. "I fucking told you so."

"Yeah, yeah," Liam says, trying to sound bored and failing. The feel of Louis' body still stays with Liam, the way he felt on top, inside him, and Liam can't even pretend to hate Louis right now, not after tonight. "You really did."

"And we're only going to get fucking better," Louis says, running his hand through Liam's short hair again as he presses his mouth to the bare curve of his shoulder, that place he likes so much. "Every day, we're just gonna get better."

Liam loves the sound of _every day_. For the last three years Liam has spent days and days of his life being irritated by everything Louis did, and then even more days figuring out how to become a part of his life, and, finally, these hundreds of days learning to love him. 

There's a bottle of lube and a row of condoms on the night table, and for some reason that still makes Liam giggly and excited, like a schoolboy making awful jokes at the back of the class. They have enough condoms and food in the house to last them at least three more days without having to go outside, without having to see anyone else but each other. The tour picks up soon, but not that soon. Liam can see it stretch out before them, those days and days and days until the condoms run out and the fridge is empty and the world comes knocking again. 

But that's later, and tonight is now.

Liam finishes reading the e-mails again for the third time and turns off the phone, sliding it onto the night table so he can turn back to Louis and kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him. 

If this is where they are today, if this is how much he loves Louis right now, then Liam can't even imagine how good tomorrow will feel.

Best of all, Liam can already imagine the song that this night will someday become.

  
_End_.


End file.
